


At All Costs

by Robin4



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clerics, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-01-10 23:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 47,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin4/pseuds/Robin4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Belle gets her kiss, breaks his curse, and nothing goes according to plan.  True Love can break any curse, but even curse breaking comes at a cost.  Thus, Regina does wonder, for quite some time, if she might have won, after all.  </p><p>Or, where True Love is no guarantee of “happily ever after”, and Rumplestiltskin makes a deal he might not be able to control.   AU after “Skin Deep,” set in the Enchanted Forest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

**_“That's the thing about true love, dearie. It can slip through your fingers. It's the most powerful magic in the world, the only magic powerful enough to break any curse. It must be protected at all costs.”_ **

****

* * *

 

 ** _Prologue—_** Belle has not fallen in love with a hero.  She has not fallen even for a particularly good man.  But she loves him, and he loves her.  She can see that on his face when she turns to look at him one last time instead of marching out of the dungeon has she had planned, head held high and never looking back. 

“You regret it already,” she whispers instead of storming out.  He does not deny her words.  Are those tears in the suddenly-almost-human amber eyes? 

She does not rush into his arms.  He does not turn into a shining prince then and there, transformed by her love.  Theirs is not a straightforward fairytale, for he is Rumplestiltskin and most things, he would tell you, are his fault.  But he allows her to stay, and some weeks later, even listens to her tearful explanation.  He decides not to blame her, and she forgives him his reaction once she learns a little bit about the Evil Queen. 

He refuses to openly admit his feelings until it is almost too late.  But the months go on, and they grow closer, and perhaps she begins to teach him courage.  Or perhaps he begins to remember a feeling called home _._   The soft touches become more common, and they _talk_.  He is more fascinating than any book, and Belle is so far gone that she’s nearly forgotten what life was like without him, other than boring.  Theirs is True Love, even if they never speak of it. 

But they are not conventional fairytale characters, and when he _does_ kiss her, it does not bring about a happy ending.  True Love’s Kiss can break any curse, and is the most powerful magic of any world, but it is no guarantee of a happy ending. 

After all, would Regina have pointed her in this direction if t’were that simple? 

Magic _always_ comes at a price.

 

*****************

 

 

 ** _Chapter One—_** In hindsight, he should have been more cruel, but near on a year after taking Belle away, he figured he might owe her something.  Oh, not on account of their deal—they had both fulfilled that bargain and moved onto something else entirely—but because she was _Belle_.  And because he loved her, much though he was certain he would never tell her that. 

So he sent her home in style, with a coach full of gifts, anything and everything she could imagine giving the friends and family she’d left behind.  Saying “no” to her was impossible when all he wanted in life was to see her grateful smile.  If that made him weak, then so be it.  One look at Belle was almost enough to make him forget he was supposed to be evil.  For centuries, he had focused all of the latent love left in his little black heart on his lost son, and yet Belle taught him, told him, that a heart had room for many loves.  Much to his surprise—and no small amount of terror—Rumplestiltskin was discovering that she was right. 

Perhaps there was a pattern at work here.  When she scared him most, he tried to send her away.

 

*****************

 

There was plenty of warning, this time, and Belle planned her visit        with a singing heart.  She was even able to send a letter ahead to her Papa to let her know she was coming, and talked Rumplestiltskin out of delivering it with a gruesome black beast of some sort.  She received his shocked reply within a week, and danced around the Dark Castle for hours with it in her hands, flinging her arms around Rumplestiltskin and resisting the urge to cover the infuriating man in kisses. 

Her Papa was waiting for her when the gorgeous coach—the one she studiously did _not_ ask Rumplestiltskin how he acquired, other than to ascertain that he’d made a deal rather than killed someone.  Her escort for the journey was a properly intimidated Gaston, whose presence as a rose on the table Rumplestiltskin had confessed to two months previously.  Her former fiancé had spent the interval in the dungeon while Belle had tried to reason with him.  She had limited success.  Rumplestiltskin, however, managed far better by avoiding reason entirely, and Gaston behaved himself. 

“Papa!” She flew into Sir Maurice’s arms, and he held her as if he would never let go.  She had missed him so much, so very much, and Belle clung to him, too. 

“Oh, my darling girl.”  Her Papa choked out the words.  “When you wrote we were certain it had to be some trick of his.” 

Belle giggled despite her own happy tears.  “No trick, Papa.  Rumplestiltskin is very particular about keeping to his deals.”  She pulled back to look him in the eye.  “And so am I, Papa.  I can only stay one month, and then I return.” 

“Belle…” 

“No,” she said firmly.  “I will visit again, when he allows it, but I _will_ leave in a month.  I must, Papa.” 

 _Nobody decides my fate but me, Papa,_ she didn’t say.  Belle and Rumplestiltskin had discussed how much truth to tell her father before she left.  Explaining would be complicated, seeing as how Belle wasn’t entirely sure what her actual role was now.  She was hardly a servant—magic saw to the cleaning now that she’d bullied him into keeping the castle presentable and he’d coaxed her out of scrubbing random floors.  Belle was more of a companion, Rumplestiltskin’s best friend who he enjoyed showering with expensive gifts and courting in his own odd way.  

She’d tried telling him _I love you_ once more, but he’d shushed her with a finger to her lips and changed the subject, his amber eyes telling her too much and too little all at the same time.  The next day he’d given her a second library’s worth of books—ones he hadn’t already owned—and had reluctantly allowed Belle to drag him into an impromptu dance around the castle.  She knew how he felt, knew he was too afraid to say it, and for the moment was content with just _knowing._   She was patient; sooner or later, she’d convince him that he was worthy of love.  In the meantime, she laughed with him, danced with him, and accepted the gifts he hesitantly gave her with a smile.  But if she told her father that, he’d likely assume Rumplestiltskin demanded sexual favors of her. 

If only she could be so fortunate, or things were that simple. 

“Let’s not argue.”  Her father wrapped her in another bone-crushing hug.  “I’ve missed you so much!” 

“I missed you, too, Papa.” 

Letting her go, Maurice turned to greet Gaston with almost as much enthusiasm, wringing his hand excitedly.  “And you, Sir Gaston!  We thought we had lost you when you went after my Belle.  Welcome home, lad.” 

“Thank you, My Lord.”  Gaston’s posture was stiff, but Maurice seemed too excited to notice. 

“You must tell us of your journey, and how you came to escort Belle home again.” 

“He turned me into a rose,” the knight complained with a scowl. 

Belle let out a decidedly unladylike squeak.  It wouldn’t have been so funny if Gaston hadn’t been so ungracious to _Belle_ after she’d wheedled Rumplestiltskin into turning him back.  Two months in the dungeons had made him polite but not happy, and he shot her a dirty look for snickering.  She flashed him an innocent smile. 

“Far more civilized than killing you, I would say,” she said sweetly.  “He _did_ turn you back, and you’re home now.” 

Gaston glowered.  Pouted.  “So I am.” 

Belle grabbed her father by the hands.  “Come!  Show me everything I have missed!” 

The town had come back to life in her absence.  People were _everywhere_ again; the market was bustling as they walked through it, with cheerful people waving to Belle and her father as they walked through.  Market stalls overflowed with goods; trade had obviously started flowing again once the ogres were gone.  The town looked prosperous in ways that Belle remembered from her childhood, happy and bright and _beautiful._  

She had been terrified that they would reject her, but the shouted greetings were welcoming, and she heard more than a little sympathy in the voices of old friends.  Some of them looked worried for her, but others were just happy.  After so long closeted in the Dark Castle or in the town at the bottom of the hill (mountain, more like; why did Rumplestiltskin persist in calling it a _hill?_ ), the sudden press of people was more than a little overwhelming, but Belle did her best to smile, wave back, and try hard not to think about what little sarcastic remark Rumplestiltskin would have to say. 

She missed him already.  Dreadfully. 

Finally, they reached the inside of the castle, and it was all Belle could do not to sigh in relief.  She loved all of their people, but holding her true thoughts inside was exhausting. _None of them can understand._   She loved them, but the town looked terribly small now.  She had left the Dark Castle and its territories several times, accompanying Rumplestiltskin on a few trips that he ostentatiously took to make deals, but Belle really suspected were to show her some of the most magnificent places a girl could dream of.  But even then there was much more privacy; people didn’t tend to botherthe Dark One, and if anyone so much as irked her, he could whisk her away in the blink of an eye.  Or whisk those _bothering_ heraway, if the mood struck him, which it sometimes did. 

If they were at home, they’d be having tea right now, she realized with as sinking loneliness.  He’d be giggling over something, she’d have her nose in a book until he stole it, and she’d likely wind up chasing him around trying to get it back.  He never used magic in those games of keep away, unless it was to control the sometimes unruly furniture.  Theirs was an odd kind of life, but it was…home. 

“Belle?” her father prompted her gently.  “Are you all right?” 

She turned to him, putting on a bright smile.  “Of course I am, Papa.  I was just thinking.” 

“You sound so wistful.” 

“I suppose I do.”  

The honest answer was accompanied by a mysterious smile; Belle didn’t want to lie to her father, but dared not tell the complete truth.  After all, who could believe that she missed the Dark One jumping off of furniture as she chased him because he’d stolen her newest book?  The thought of telling her Papa about how Rumplestiltskin had sprained his ankle in a fall off the biting stairs made the memory lose a little bit of its humor.  He _wouldn’t_ understand and would probably assume that Rumplestiltskin had somehow enchanted her.  Thinking that was probably easier than believing the Dark One had a special charm all of his own, and that Belle liked him better than any of the innumerable suitors she’d had over the years. 

Belle forced herself to shrug nonchalantly.  “I’m just thinking of how different things look when you’ve been gone for some time.”           

“I imagine you have not seen…much, in the past year,” her father said, squeezing her arm gently.  

“Oh, no.”  Belle turned to him with a glowing smile before she could think to tell a partial truth.  “Rumplestiltskin’s taken me all kinds of lovely places.  We’ve got to Agrabah, Lake Nostos, the Forbidden Palace, Mount Olympus—” 

She cut herself off abruptly as her father’s eyes grew wider with shock.  Belle gulped. 

“He _takes_ you with him?”  Maurice demanded.  “For _what?_ ” 

“Well.  Um.”  She took a deep breath.  _Because he said he’d take me anywhere, put the world at my feet, and if that doesn’t mean ‘I love you’, nothing does.  And I believe him._   “I’ve always wanted to travel, so Rumplestiltskin said he’d—” 

“Don’t say his name, Belle!” 

This time, when she clamped her mouth shut, it was to keep a giggle from sneaking out.   Belle knew better than most that calling his name _would_ summon him, but she also suspected that Rumplestiltskin could tell the difference between her talking about him and actually summoning him.  However, that distinction would probably be lost on her father. 

“Sorry, Papa.  I’ve just gotten used to, you know, using his name.  I have to call him something, after all.” 

Her father’s face was a disturbing shade of purple by now, and Belle tried to smile reassuringly.  She’d said too much, but how did you go back from that?  

“I brought gifts,” she said brightly, changing the subject.  “Would you like to see them?” 

Maurice frowned deeply.  “Gifts from him.” 

“Gifts from _me,_ Papa.”

 

*****************

 

He had wondered if being away from her would help.  Or hurt.  Or _something._   Master of change that he was, he couldn’t force _this_ issue to play out according to his plan, because Rumplestiltskin didn’t _have_ a plan.  He knew what he wanted, and knew what he couldn’t have.  _Couldn’t_ wasn’t a word he liked to hear, but there it was: a fact.  Giving in to his desires would make him lose everything, and yet he wanted her like he had never wanted anyone before.  Even the darkness constantly hovering in the back of his consciousness _wanted_ Belle, terrified of what she represented though it was. 

Now more than ever, that ever present darkness weighed him down.  Zoso had been right.  He _had_ made a deal without understanding anything about the power he was taking on, and the quiet and unassuming spinner left in the back of Rumplestiltskin’s mind still insisted that he would not have stabbed Zoso if he’d known what it would cost.  Oh, he had gained power—such _power!_ —but he had lost his soul.  In those first crucial months, even his love for Bae had not been enough to keep him grounded.  The darkness sank its teeth into his soul, and the power sang with bloodlust, with vicious fury he could never quench, no matter how many he killed.  The more he tried to sake the thirst, the worse the fire became, turning a good man into a monster. 

Losing Bae had made him worse, had taken away his only reason to even _try_ to restrain himself, little though he’d managed.  In the first years after that loss, Rumplestiltskin had taken his rage, his loneliness, and his pain out on the rest of the world.  And then, somehow, he had learned to manage the darkness.  He’d learned to own a small part of his own soul, learned to appease the curse—and magic itself— _with a price_ , and had thus managed to inch away from the edge.  The difference was slight, but there was indeed a difference, and he told himself it was enough. 

It had been enough until he’d demanded a girl on a whim, looking at her and knowing she was important, but never expecting her to be important to _him._  

Rumplestiltskin had alternately mocked and admired True Love throughout his life.  But he had never once expected to _find_ it.  He had loved Milah, once, though whatever affection she once felt for him had been erased by his cowardice.  He had loved Cora, too, had been intoxicated by the idea of having a dark witch by his side while they both reveled in the darkness they created.  He had loved the _idea_ of Cora as much as he’d loved Cora herself, loved what they could be together, even as that small corner of his soul warned him that he might just be closer to toppling over edge of madness than ever before.  Yet Rumplestiltskin had been so lonely that he’d ignored the warning signs, and his heart—which _he_ was not so fool as ever to rip out—had paid the price.  Cora’s betrayal had cured him of loving forever—or so he thought. 

And then True Love changed _everything_.  He had sworn to never love another when he lost Bae, and yet there was Belle.  _Belle_.  And suddenly he wanted everything normal people could have, lives monsters weren’t granted. 

Less than four days apart, and he burned for her already. How could he last an entire _month_?  

“Have I offended you, Dark One?” his current would-be customer asked timidly, bringing him back to the present with a bang. 

He snarled wordlessly in annoyance.  “You will if you keep interrupting me, dearie.” 

Duchess Aurelia flinched.  Like many others, the foolish woman was trying to barter for more power, for the right to overtake a nearby duchy because the neighboring Duke of the Frontlands was a fool.  Rumplestiltskin was actually inclined to grant her the assistance she wanted, out of spite if nothing else.  All it would take would be a minor matter of incapacitating a certain enemy general and misleading the very same army he’d once been a part of—but he wasn’t going to do it without exacting a price.  And looking at the very vain woman in front of him, he knew exactly what he wanted. 

Just for the hell of it, just to keep them all on their toes, he’d ask for something _normal_ this time around.  Rumplestiltskin giggled. 

“I do apologize.  I—” 

“Do shut up,” he snapped, just to watch her jump again. 

Belle might be a good influence on him, but he _was_ still the Dark One. 

“I want your jewels, dearie.  Every last one of them.”

 

*****************

 

Days turned into weeks, and Belle slipped back into her old life, more or less.  Seeing old friends—safe and sound from the war!—was _wonderful_ , but Avonlea almost seemed to have faded in her absence.  It was like her old home was somehow less colorful than she remembered, more dull…and three weeks passed before Belle understood that it was _her_ life that changed.  She was used to _more_ than the small castle and town her father’s title granted him, and it actually hurt to realize that she’d grown.  The few stories she shared, of safe trips and innocent encounters, hinted at things even those who had known her for her entire life could never understand, and she yearned to curl up in the library at Rumplestiltskin’s side and share a laugh over a good book. 

She had never expected to be so ready to _leave_ home, not when she’d been so excited to come back.  But life here was so simple, so…boring.  The Dark Castle was anything but.  Their relationship was nothing if not complicated, but it was also an adventure.  

None of them would understand why she missed him, or why Belle grimaced when her father held a ball to celebrate her birthday.  Apparently he’d forgotten that she preferred books to ball dresses, or maybe this was just her Papa’s way of trying to make everything normal again.  She’d accepted that mostly because he was trying so hard and loved her so much.  However, she did draw the line at his insistence that Gaston escort her to the ball. 

“Papa, he’s not my betrothed any longer,” Belle objected. 

“Of course he is, darling.  Neither of us have given up home on freeing you someday.” 

Leave Rumplestiltskin and commit herself to a boring life of birthing Gaston’s babies?  Even if she hadn’t been in love with Rumplestiltskin, she would not have wanted to leave the fascinating life she’d gained. 

“Rumplestiltskin turned him into a rose the last time Gaston tried to ‘free’ me,” she pointed out reasonably.  “Next time he’ll probably kill him.” 

“Belle—!” 

“Gaston _did_ promise not to return, and no one breaks a deal with Rumplestiltskin.  Not without dire consequences.” 

Just hearing Rumplestiltskin’s name made her father flinch.  Was it terribly disloyal of her to wish Rumplestiltskin might show up and scare some sense into her father? 

“Sweetheart, we all know that,” Sir Maurice replied shakily. 

Belle sighed.  “Then remember that _I_ made a deal with him, too, Papa.  For _forever_.  And I won’t break it, either.” 

“Of course not.  I only…wish.  That’s all.” 

Looking back on it later, Belle _should_ have realized there was something behind his easy agreement, but she was too happy to hear her father give in to notice it immediately.  Instead, she agreed to be escorted by Gaston if her father would speak to him about finally breaking the years-old betrothal, and felt like she’d won at least one round. 

The birthday ball wasn’t as bad as she expected, and Belle _did_ enjoy the dancing.  Her clumsiness never really translated to the dance floor, and Gaston _was_ a marvelous dancer, even if he did lead like they were taking part in military maneuvers.  But he never put a foot wrong, and for a little while, Belle could lose herself in the music and pretend that no one was judging her.  Unfortunately, that feeling did not last. 

The awkward, pitying looks were bad enough.  Her father’s advisors and friends were far worse. 

“Lady Belle, I am glad to see you looking so well,” Sir Francois said amicably when she had paused to socialize.  Courtesy demanded that she greet even those she did not like, but if she could have avoided this man, Belle would have. 

Francois du Rand was a cousin on Belle’s mother’s side of the family, one of the richest landowners in Avonlea.  His people had been devastated by the Ogres and were still struggling to rebuild, but Sir Francois was dressed as richly as ever, cloaked in expensive silk and jewels.  She’d heard his castle had been the first structure rebuilt, too, more luxurious than ever despite the fact that many of his people still lacked roofs over their heads.  He’d always been self-centered, and the best thing about that old betrothal to Gaston was that she hadn’t wound up as the third Lady du Rand. 

“Thank you, Sir Francois,” Belle replied with a strained smile, wishing she’d not worn such a low cut gown. 

“Thinking of your sacrifice still saddens me,” the old lecher said.  “It’s such a…waste, to see you chained for life to such a monster.” 

“Rumplestiltskin is a man of his word, My Lord.”  _And not a monster._  

Interestingly, he did not flinch, even though she’d intentionally used Rumplestiltskin’s name to intimidate du Rand.  “So we all hear, my dear.  And I am very…relieved to discover that you are weathering your horrible existence so bravely.  And beautifully, of course.” 

“My life is hardly terrible,” Belle replied stiffly.  “And even if it were, the safety of our people is worth any discomfort.” 

“Indeed it is,” he replied smoothly, obviously all but drooling at whatever mental images he’d conjured of Belle’s ‘horrible existence.’ 

“Excuse me.”  She turned away with a polite smile, only to be stopped by du Rand’s hand on her arm. 

“Belle.  This may be forward of me”—he licked his lips—“but if you ever need… _shelter_ from the Dark One, do let me know.  I’m sure we could work something out.” 

His touch made her shudder in ways Rumplestiltskin’s never had, not even in the beginning when he’d thrown her into a dungeon and then shouted at her to stop crying.  Du Rand was a predator in ways even the Dark One was not, and made Belle feel like a terrified and cornered creature.  It took all of her self-control to keep her voice level.  “Excuse me.” 

Belle yanked away, and strode to her father’s side, pretending she didn’t notice how du Rand’s eyes followed her from behind.

 

*****************

 

Back at the Dark Castle, he looked at the stack of jewels disdainfully, after having ignored it for over two weeks.  Surely there was _something_ in that massive monument to expensive living that Belle would find attractive.  Duchess Aurelia was widely known for her beauty and good taste, after all, though Rumplestiltskin had a feeling that giving up her jewel collection had pained her more than the thought of those who might die during her conquest of a neighboring duchy ever would.  She’d even tried to seduce _him_ out of taking her expensive babbles!  As if a superficial and arrogant woman like her would ever interest him. 

Not having Belle in the castle made things too quiet.  He’d demanded her on a whim, and yet now couldn’t imagine living without her there.  What would he do if she decided she wanted to stay home and begged him to let her leave?  Just thinking on that made him close his eyes on the pain.           

He’d let her stay, of course, and demand something stupid in exchange, just to keep up the appearances of striking a deal while making her happy.  If she had any sense at all—and his Belle was nothing if not sensible—she _would_ want to stay with her father, so Rumplestiltskin had best steel himself against that day.  Six days away, it was.  Less than a week.  What would he do with himself when she sent a letter—or worse yet, came herself—asking to change their deal?           

He could get another maid, but magic saw to the cleaning well enough, and always had.  Besides, where would he find one with so much fire and intelligence, who wasn’t afraid of him and even— _Oh, don’t think it.  Think it and you’re through._  

 _I am such a coward._  

Sitting at his wheel and spinning couldn’t even make him forget the feel of her lips on his, the feel of something other than darkness singing inside him, demanding _love_ vice destruction.  Reckless and courageous in ways he’d never been, not in his entire life, he’d wanted to collapse into her arms and give everything up.  Just like that.  Drop the power, break the curse, and just _be_ someone worthy of the woman he— 

There was no use denying it even in the privacy of his own mind.  He loved her, and if she could break the curse with a simple kiss, it had to be True Love.  True Love for _Rumplestiltskin_.  What a ludicrous concept. 

She would come back for that, though.  His own fears were getting the better of him, and even if he _wouldn’t_ say the words out loud, he’d make sure she knew.  And he’d give her something better than this odd little life of theirs, somehow.  He’d think of something.

 

*****************

 

“Oh, I won’t ride fast, Babette, really.  Please say you’ll come with me,” Belle begged her old maid and confidante.  

“My Lady, I’m sure your father would prefer you stayed inside.  It’s _cold_ out.” 

Belle laughed and squeezed her old friend’s arm.  Babette had been with her since she was a small girl, more of a playmate in childhood than a servant.  They were only a few years apart in age, and Belle had missed her almost as much as she had missed her father.  Babette had never been as strong of a rider as Belle (who, truth be told, wasn’t terribly well practiced, either), but they had often gone riding together before the Ogres came to attack. 

“It’s only a little brisk.  No harm done, and we won’t be gone long.”  Smiling, she pulled Babette along, their arms linked just like they’d been in the old days.  “Look, our horses are already waiting for us in the courtyard.” 

The smile on Babette’s face froze.  “Who are those men, My Lady?” 

A group of cloaked and hooded men had just entered the courtyard, heading in their direction.  Their cloaks were maroon, trimmed in various colors detonating their ranks within Avonlea’s Holy Order.  Belle had seen them many times growing up, and throughout the war with the Ogres, during which they _did_ indeed do good works and save many lives, but she’d always thought that they dressed rather richly for a group of men supposedly dedicated to goodness and charity.  They were _supposed_ to be opposed to self-indulgence, yet had never really looked the part.  

“Just clerics,” she said dismissively, turning to pay attention to her horse.  

Babette’s gasp alerted her moments before Belle felt the hands on her arm.  “Lady Belle,” one of the clerics intoned in a gravelly voice.  “You’re to come with us.” 

“Excuse me?” Belle asked with more confusion than fear.  Oh, she’d heard harrowing tales of the clerics, of course, but they had always been very polite to her as a Lord’s daughter. 

“Bishop Chesson has reviewed your situation and has realized that it is the Holy Order’s _duty_ to free you from the Dark One’s enchantments.  Your path to redemption will not be easy, My Lady, but you will find absolution if you trust in the Holy Order and our faith.” 

She pulled away from him angrily.  “I am not under any enchantment, Cleric…?” 

“Cleric Perold, Lady Belle.”  He met her eyes, but the hunger in them reminded her of Sir Francois, not the kindly old clerics Belle remembered from childhood.   Perold was about her age, and all but drooling down the front of her dress.  

“Well, Cleric Perold, as I said, I am under no enchantment.  I am simply trying to go for a ride with an old friend during my time at home.  So, if you will excuse us, we will be leaving.” 

She never got the chance to fully turn back to her horse before Perold said to his companions: “Take her!” 

“What?” Belle yelped, spinning around to discover two clerics reaching for her as Perold smiled hungrily.  Suddenly, every harrowing tale of scourges and flails and _purification_ she’d ever heard jumped to the front of her mind, and Belle fought madly as the two men each grabbed an arm. 

Her right heel struck one in the left knee, _hard_ , and he howled in pain.  That made the third cleric grab for her, and she struggled even more wildly, catching the new cleric in the face with her nails.  They hadn’t expected her to be so intransient; perhaps they’d thought she’d go willingly.  But looking into those four leering faces made Belle panic, and _no one_ decided her fate but her. 

“Babette, get my father!” she shouted, evading the hands that tried to clap over her mouth.  “Let _go_ of me!” 

“She has been possessed by the Dark One, brothers!” Perold thundered. “Hold her tightly!” 

She bit the hand that clamped down on her mouth, only to be struck hard in the face.  Stars swirled before her eyes, and Belle tasted blood.  Another blow came down, this time on her nose, and blood snorted everywhere.  Gasping out a cry, she tried to bite again, only to be hit again on the left side of the face. 

“Belle!” her father’s voice carried across the courtyard, and she managed to turn her head far enough to see him running towards her.  Bishop Chesson was at his side, however, pulling on his arm until her father was forced to stop, fighting against the hold of the holy man. 

“Papa!” 

Movement to her left caught her eye, and then Perold dropped a bag over her head.  The sudden darkness was even more terrifying than their lecherous looks, and Belle felt ropes winding around her wrists as they forced her arms behind her back.  At least one set of hands wandered slightly, squeezing her breasts under the guise of holding her still, and Belle gasped in shock and fear. 

“My Lord, you cannot save her, but we will scourge the Dark One’s enchantments from her!” Bishop Chesson said from nearby, clearly addressing her father.  “We will purify her and bring your daughter back to you, meek, obedient and the proper daughter of such a lord as yourself.” 

“But my Belle has never—” Sir Maurice started. 

“Worry not, My Lord! All will be well!” 

“No!” Belle howled.  “I am not enchanted!  Every choice I have made is my own, and I will _not_ —” 

The blow to her stomach knocked the words and the wind out of her, and Belle doubled over as her father shouted her name again.  But he was helpless, and she could hear the despair in his voice.  The clerics held more power than any earthly lord, and even kings hesitated to cross them.  Stories of their power crossed the kingdoms of the enchanted forest, and a word from them would leave any monarch with little choice but to punish a wayward lord unless the monarch himself wanted to find himself toppled from his throne. 

Wheezing for air, Belle realized that she was truly alone.  Strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her off her feet and holding her tight.  The bag pulled tighter over her head, but Belle kicked hard with both feet, managing to catch someone.  Judging from the pained _whoof_ the cleric made, she’d caught him somewhere precious, and Belle tried again, jackknifing her body hard and hoping to catch another one.  Hard hands caught her feet, though, and she snarled in frustration.  

The snarl turned to a cry in pain when one of them hit her in the stomach again, this time with something solid.  Pain rocketed up her insides from her lower rib cage.  Breathing was suddenly next to impossible, and ropes wrapped around her feet while she struggled for air.  Her father was still shouting, calling the bishop things that would probably see _him_ punished for impiety.  Then the hood slipped, and Belle could see out of her right eye, could see her father struggling against two other clerics’ hold, fighting to get to her.  To save her. 

It was only the second time in her life that her papa _couldn’t_ save her, and this time she couldn’t save herself, either.  But someone could. 

 _“Rumplestiltskin!”_  

   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading so far, and please do let me know what you think! Stay tuned for Chapter 2, in which Rumplestiltskin arrives and Belle makes a mistake.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rumplestiltskin arrives to face off with the clerics, and his curse is broken. Consequences ensue.

_“Rumplestiltskin!”_   

            Belle screamed his name before they could think to gag her, but the blow still came down hard on her face, making her see more stars and her left cheek explode in pain.  Her father shouted something about not hurting her, about letting her go—and then there was a familiar voice suddenly said: 

            “You called, my dear?” 

            His voice was jovial until he saw her, bleeding and bound, held by two clerics as she struggled.  She caught a glimpse of his face, then, and saw it go from smiling dangerously to purely dangerous.  The clerics holding onto her went stiff with fear, and then suddenly they were gone.  

            Rumplestiltskin caught her before she could land on either of the two snails crawling beneath her.  He breathed her name so quietly that no one else could hear it.  “Belle.” 

            “I’m all right,” Belle gulped, her ribs burning and blood running down her face.  “There are more of them.” 

            The ropes holding her vanished as he set her on her feet, and Belle tore the hood off herself.  Standing was hard while so dizzy, but Belle was determined not to fall, not while Rumplestiltskin was spinning, hands outstretched and _power_ swirling everywhere. 

            She’d seem him work a hundred deals, seen him use magic both carelessly and artfully.  But Belle had never actually seen him _fight_.  Fury was etched in every line of his face while clerics tumbled away from Belle and her father.  The Bishop’s hands came together on his staff and he started an incantation, only to have the staff whip around and swing into the Bishop’s face.  Flames sprouted out of the wood, and it continued the spin until it windmilled into a nearby wall, smoldering. 

            The two remaining clerics made a grab for Belle again, only to be pitched up in the air as if grabbed by a giant hand and then crash back down to the ground, bones rattling.  Both cried out, but Belle felt no pity for them.  Not now.  Perold started to shout some spell of his own from the ground—he was one of the ones that had been thrown into the air—but a wave of Rumplestiltskin’s hand sent him off the ground and spinning into a wall. 

            “Anyone else?” Rumplestiltskin demanded. 

            No one in the courtyard moved.  For a moment, Belle wasn’t even sure any of them dared _breathe._   Everyone just stared at the Dark One, watched how every line of his body was rigid with power and fury.  No one dared meet his eyes, amber colored and on fire that they were; Belle watched every face turn away, and a few people, innocents like the stable master and his apprentices, even shuddered in terror.  Even her father was sweating nervously. 

            “Rumplestilt…” She turned to face him as she spoke, but suddenly Belle’s legs went out from under her, and the pain in her stomach exploded in a gasp for air. 

            He caught her before she could fall, again, impossibly fast.  Belle caught her balance dizzily, leaning heavily on his left arm.  His hand touched the right side of her face, opposite the bruises.  It was warm, and Belle felt like melting. 

            “I missed you,” she whispered dizzily, wanting nothing more than to bury herself in his chest and feel _safe_.  Belle was too loopy to think straight; she could hardly see which way was up, and if Rumplestiltskin’s other hand hadn’t been on her back, she would have collapsed right to the ground.  Her words made him let out an inarticulate noise of annoyance mixed with affection. 

            “Hold still,” he told her softly.  The hand left her face, and soft blue light enveloped her, moving from her face to her midsection, and then back up again.  Her skin tingled, warm and comfortable, the pain vanishing. 

            Belle slumped against his chest in relief.  She could feel magic still working over her skin, and Rumplestiltskin’s bent head was very close to her face as he scanned her with magic, slowly and cautiously. 

            “Rumple,” she whispered, and he glanced up at her through his wavy hair.  “Thank you.” 

            His lips quirked into a slight smile, and the hand on her back caressed her slightly.  The touch made a shiver run through her that had nothing to do with magic, and Belle’s breath caught slightly.  His voice was equally soft.  “You are most welcome.” 

            “Belle!”  Heavy footsteps announced her father’s hurried approach, and Belle looked towards him, the dizziness receding rapidly.  

            “Papa.”  Sir Maurice moved as if to help her stand, but Rumplestiltskin steadied her and then stepped away before Belle’s father could reach her.  She gave her love a small smile before turning to face her worried father.  “I’m all right.”  Belle swallowed.  “Now, anyway.” 

            “Sweetheart.”  He took her into his arms as Rumplestiltskin turned away, suddenly on the prowl.  “Oh, sweetheart.” 

            Her father was shaking slightly, whether in fear or in rage Belle could not tell.  She leaned into him for a moment, comforted by the familiarity of his embrace.  But her mind whirled all the while, full of clerics and threats and hard hands squeezing her tight.  Her father must have felt her shudder, because he squeezed her tighter, but reassurance though he could offer, Sir Maurice had not been able to save her when the clerics came. 

            “What _exactly_ happened here, Sir Maurice?” Rumplestiltskin demanded, his voice colder than Belle had ever heard it.  Gone was the laughter, the high-pitched speech and impish outer façade.  When he turned to look at her father, he was frighteningly _still_ , his every muscle still crackling with fury and power. 

            She had called for him, and he had come.  Not for a deal, but for _her._   Thinking of that made her previous fears vanish, although Rumplestiltskin’s presence was obviously anything but a relief for her father.  Sir Maurice turned from her slightly, and Belle drew away to look at the two most important men in her life, silently pleading for Rumplestiltskin to treat her father gently.  But he did not meet her eyes, still staring furiously at her father. 

            “Bishop Chesson came to me at the same time his clerics came for Belle,” Sir Maurice replied shakily.  “He was—is—afraid that Belle was enchanted, and…” he looked nervously over his shoulder to where Chesson was picking himself up off the ground, gulping.  “I swear to you, I had no part in it.  I’ve respected Belle’s wishes, and the deal you made with us…” 

            “With _her_ , dearie,” Rumplestiltskin snapped.  “My deal is with her.  The only one here with even a shred of courage.” 

            “Rumplestiltskin, please,” Belle said softly, watching her father flinch.  

            Those angry amber eyes zeroed in on her for a moment, but she met them levelly and the fury receded a little.  Belle watched him soften, ever so slightly, a miniscule relaxation of the shoulders that was only for her.  Then his gaze flicked back to her father. 

            “No, he’s right, sweetheart,” her father said softly, squaring his shoulders bravely.  “I have no power to stop the Holy Order from taking you.”  He took a deep breath and looked at Rumplestiltskin.  “But you do, don’t you?” 

            “I think it’s safe to say that they have good reason to be afraid of me.” He smiled the lazy smile she knew so well, until flicked a hand at Bishop Chesson, who was reaching for the smoldering staff again.  Rumplestiltskin never even turned to look at the Bishop, but one small gesture from him and the staff burst into giant green flames a moment before Chesson could touch it. 

            The Bishop screamed in pain and rage, rolling on the ground to put the flames on his hands and clothing out.  Rumplestiltskin tittered nastily. 

            “Case in point.” 

            Belle tried not to laugh with him, and turned to hide her smile in her father’s shoulder before someone could spot it.   A well-behaved lady did not find it amusing that a dark sorcerer had just made utter fools of clerics, but then again, a well-behaved lady probably ought not bite said clerics, either.  Perhaps relief was just making her giddy. 

            Movement caught her eye.  Perold and one of the other clerics had lurched to their feet, one with a knife and the other with a sword.  Perold had blood on his face and one arm looked useless, but both had murder in their eyes— 

            “Look out!” Belle cried, and Rumplestiltskin spun right just as the cleric with the sword thrust towards him, catching him in the side and making blood bubble through his dragonhide surcoat.  However, Rumplestiltskin seemed not to notice at all, his hand clamping down on the cleric’s sword arm.  Immediately, the sword disintegrated…and then so did the cleric wielding it.  There was nothing left of the cleric, just a pile of red ash where once a man had stood. 

            But Rumplestiltskin did not see Perold and his dagger launching at him from the other side, or hear the incantations Perold was muttering under his breath.  He’d told her once that he was nigh on impossible to kill, and yet with a cleric wielding a dagger and magic, Belle could not take that chance.  

            Belle threw herself forward, away from her father and shoving Rumplestiltskin aside just in time.  She’d thought of nothing but saving him, and never expected the dagger to enter her chest. 

            “Oh.” 

            Staggering, Belle gulped for air, her chest suddenly tight and the world going— 

 _“Belle!”_  

            She never felt her legs collapse out from under her, or the ground rush up to meet her.  Strong arms caught her as she went down, and her fading vision caught sight of Rumplestiltskin’s face, very close to her own. 

            “No,” he whispered, his right hand coming down on her chest, right where the knife had gone in and making Belle cry out sharply in pain.  “I will not let this happen.” 

            “Can you help her?” Belle heard her father plead, but his voice sounded like it was coming from a great distance.  Through a tunnel, maybe?  “Please.  I’ll give anything, everything you could want, _please—_ ” 

            “Shut up!” Rumplestiltskin snarled; his voice was clearer and closer.  “The blade was poisoned.  I need to concentrate.” 

            Was this what dying was like?  With her vision going blurry and black around the edges, and her focus narrowing down to only the knowledge of Rumplestiltskin’s hand on her chest as blood bubbled around his fingers?  Her breath was growing shorter and shorter, and she could hear her father worrying aloud, muttering and pacing and shouting for someone to do something.  Everything around her was starting to spin, and she tried to calm it, tried to take a deep breath, only to wind up coughing blood onto Rumplestiltskin’s face.  

            She could barely see the red splatters against the golden skin; everything was vanishing into a whirl.  Fire raced through her veins, the poison burning into her and making tremors run through her body.  Breathing was too much of an effort to bother, despite the warmth steadily spreading in her chest.  Still, she wanted to tell him, just one more time, that she loved him and that he was so very wrong about himself, but Belle could not find the breath to speak.  Were her eyes even open?  She would die and leave him without ever having a future with him, and Belle burned with anger and grief all at once.  Her eyes slid shut. 

            Eternity seemed to pass as she floated aimlessly, and then a hand squeezed her shoulder.  “Belle,” Rumplestiltskin whispered.  Fingers touched her face, tracing her brow lightly.  She was breathing again, she realized belatedly.  “Belle, love—” his voice cracked. 

            Slowly, her eyes inched open, looking into the worried face only inches from her own.  Long fingers continued to caress her face, moving down to her cheek and brushing hair aside.  The touch was so gentle, and Belle instinctively rolled her face into his hand, smiling softly as her senses gradually came back to life.  Her voice came out in a scratchy whisper.  “Hi.” 

 _“Belle.”_   Her name came out of him in an explosion of relief, and the hand on her cheek shook. 

            “You saved me,” she whispered. 

            Her father said something, but neither of them listened. 

            “Of course,” Rumplestiltskin replied softly, a genuine smile warming his face.  “Always.” 

            Her heart skipped a beat.  Their noses were almost touching, and a force stronger than magnetism drew them together.  There was magic in the motion, an inevitability born of something stronger than either one of them.  They were both terrified and relieved and most of all in _love_.  Belle could not stop herself.  Perhaps Rumplestiltskin could have, but did not want to.  Neither thought about the risks, the consequences, or even who was watching.  Perhaps this was simply the price paid for such magic as he had used to heal her. 

            Their lips touched, tentatively at first and then stronger.  Months of denial and need deepened the kiss, and when her hands came up to cup his face, Rumplestiltskin did not pull away.  Instead, he relaxed into her, and power _whooshed_ outwards from the pair.  Belle’s eyes were half closed, but she could still feel it, and saw the slight golden glow dissipating outwards.  _True Love_.  It was working. 

            When they broke the kiss, their foreheads were still touching. 

            “Stupid girl,” he breathed, and Belle’s heart did a terrified backflip until she heard his next words:  “Next time, let them stab me.” 

            She laughed softly despite herself.  “No.” 

            “I love you,” he whispered, and she felt the skin under her fingers start to change.  His breath caught in his throat, sounding uncomfortable.  “Oh.  _Oh._ ” 

            “I love you, too,” she replied, smiling so hard that it hurt her face.  He shook slightly, wincing, but smiled back, anyway, and suddenly Belle was looking into a pair of brown eyes instead of the inhumanly amber ones she was accustomed to. 

            “Take him, brothers!” Bishop Chesson shouted, breaking the wonderful moment into little, tiny pieces. 

            Belle had to catch herself when Rumplestiltskin released her, rising from his knees and spinning with his hands coming up in what she knew was an instinctive motion.  _Oh, no—_ she’d ruined it.  Ruined everything, and now— 

            Chesson, Perold, and the handful of new clerics rushing into the courtyard flew backwards, swept off their feet by a giant, invisible, hand.  “I have had quite enough of this!” Rumplestiltskin snarled, on his feet now and all but crackling with magic.  “Now, does anyone _else_ wish to try their luck, or have you learned your lessons?” 

            Her father skittered back several steps as Belle jumped to her feet.  The clerics remained in a pile near the entrance to the courtyard, looking like broken rag dolls.  Everyone else shrank back, avoiding Rumplestiltskin’s gaze as if pretending to be dirt would make him not notice them.  No one moved, until Belle saw the tremor shake Rumplestiltskin’s tense shoulders.  Fearlessly, she stepped forward to touch his right arm. 

            “Belle!” her father reached out to stop her, but she sidestepped him easily, just as Rumplestiltskin stumbled. 

            “What is it?” she whispered.  _He still has magic.  What does that mean?_   But she couldn’t ask that in front of so many people.  If the clerics found out that his curse was breaking and he had no magic, they were both in a world of trouble. 

            He stumbled again and Belle caught him with an arm around his waist.  “The classic battle between good and evil, I should think,” Rumplestiltskin replied, for once without so much as a smile.  His breathing was becoming labored.  “The curse of the Dark One is probably the single most evil curse in the world, and it’s had a few hundred years to make a home in me.”  Another tremor rocked him, making Rumplestiltskin cough raggedly.  “It’s in too deep and too ferocious to accept something quite so… _pure_ as True Love lightly.” 

            “We’d best get you inside,” Belle decided, wrapping an arm around his waist. 

            “Good idea.  I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to be conscious.” 

            Pushing aside her worry, Belle helped Rumplestiltskin into the castle, noticing how he favored his right leg with each step.  He seemed dizzy, and the tremors were coming more quickly as they walked.  She could tell by the expression on his face that the battle between the curse and their kiss was growing painful, and he leaned more heavily on her by the moment.  Finally, they reached her room—where else would she take him?—and Belle lowered Rumplestiltskin onto her own bed, shutting out her father’s objections. 

            “Not now, Papa!” she shouted at him, wishing that _she_ had magic with which to shove him out the door and bar it against her well-meaning parent. 

            She looked back at Rumplestiltskin, now shaking and pale.  Longing to wrap him in her arms, Belle made to do so, only to be stopped as he shook his head.  Figuring that he had a good reason for doing so, she contented herself with taking his hands. 

            “I’m so sorry,” Belle whispered, blinking back tears. 

            “I’m not.”  He coughed hard, and a short whimper escaped from behind clenched teeth.  “Worth the cost, I should say.” 

            Rumplestiltskin’s pained smile made her heart melt.  Belle kissed his hands, his fragile, human hands.  “Even if you lose your magic?” 

            He grimaced.  “Even if.” 

            Of all the many things he had said to Belle over the last few months to show his affection, those two simple words told Belle how very much he loved her.  And yet she remembered his fear the first time he had thought the curse would break, remembered how upset he had been—and she remembered why, just a few days before she left for home, he had told her that he needed his power so badly. 

            Had she just cost him the chance to find his son?  

            “Maybe…maybe the curse is the darkness, not the magic.  Maybe the fact that you could use magic after we kissed means you haven’t lost it?” she asked, groping for hope. 

            “Maybe.”  But the expression that crossed his face said he didn’t believe a word of what he said.  “But I doubt it.  The curse isn’t broken yet, Belle, its _breaking_.  When this runs its course, we’ll know.” 

            “Did you know this would happen?” she asked softly. 

            Rumplestiltskin shook his head, speaking tightly.  “Not like this.  I assumed it would be unpleasant, but nothing like this.  I feel like my insides are on fire.” 

            “What can I do?” 

            “Nothing,” he gasped as another, harder, tremor rocked his body.  “Stay clear—the magic may go out of control.  I can’t hold onto it much longer.” 

            Belle pressed her lips into his sweaty forehead.  “I love you,” she said again. 

            “And I love you.”  Cough.  “Stupid girl.”  There was a ghost of a smile on his face, until a violent convulsion tore it away.  Quickly, he released her hands, shoving them away.  “Now get back, Belle.” 

            She wouldn’t have gone if her father hadn’t pulled her back in time.  She was just feet away from the bed when power _exploded_ out of him, with Rumplestiltskin screaming as his back arched in pain.  Belle tried to rush to him, but her father held her back again.  Sir Maurice’s stubbornness may very well have saved her life, because a second wave of magic burst forth, just as strong and violent as the first, and Rumplestiltskin continued to scream and convulse. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left comments following the first chapter! I really appreciate the feedback. Stay tuned for Chapter 3, in which Regina pays Maurice a visit and Belle refuses to give up. In the meantime, please let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Regina arrives.

Two days passed with Rumplestiltskin in her bed, moaning and convulsing and sometimes screaming in pain.  He remained semi-conscious, sometimes aware of her presence and other times not even responding to her touch.  Belle refused to leave his side despite her father’s pleas, trying to feed him water when it looked like he might not choke it back up again, or just staying with him and talking quietly.  He never managed to speak through the pain, but the few times he squeezed her hand meant Belle knew that he was still in there, somewhere. 

            Never had she thought that breaking his curse would turn out so horribly.  Freeing Rumplestiltskin was supposed to have been a _good_ thing.  How could it have occurred to her that releasing him from the darkness that weighed down his soul might bring pain instead of comfort?  He’d indicated that he had not thought breaking the curse would be a simple case of True Love conquering all, but even Rumplestiltskin clearly had not expected it to be like this.  Two days after they’d kissed, he still lay on the bed convulsing and hurting, with waves of power bursting out of him at random intervals.  So far, the magic hadn’t actually _harmed_ anything, though it did make Belle’s skin tingle unpleasantly and her room feel very drafty.  The magic seemed to hover ominously in the air, too, just a dark cloud…waiting. 

            A knock came on the door, and Belle rose, reluctantly releasing Rumplestiltskin’s hand.  She’d barred the door after pushing her father and others out a day and a half earlier, refusing to answer any questions until Rumplestiltskin was better.  She wanted to ignore the knocking now, too, but knew she shouldn’t.  There was no way of telling how long would pass before he regained consciousness, and sooner or later, her father was going to get very impatient.  Better she do this on her terms, then, and volunteer as little information as possible. 

            Much to her surprise, Babette was standing there when she opened the door. “What are you doing here?” she blurted out.  Belle had expected her father. 

            “You’d better come down to the hall, My Lady,” her old friend replied hurriedly, glancing fearfully Rumplestiltskin’s way. 

            He just kept twitching, and Belle ached to be with him.  She bit back a sharp retort after seeing his pain, resolving not to take her frustrations out on Babette. 

            “You can tell my father that I’m staying here.  With Rumplestiltskin.  Anything else can wait,” Belle said firmly. 

            “But My Lady, he didn’t send me for you.  I just wanted to tell you—to tell you that I think you need to come down.  Quickly.” 

            Alarm bells were ringing in her head.  “Why?” 

            “There’s a queen here, from one of the neighboring kingdoms.  She’s talking to your father about taking _him_ away,” Babette whispered, looking terrified. 

            “ _What?”_  

            Her old friend nodded jerkily.  “They’re down in the hall…” 

            Before she even started thinking, Belle’s feet carried her forward.  Slamming the door behind herself, Belle ran down to the castle’s great hall, bursting in on a very quaint looking scene.  Her father sat across from a beautiful woman, sharing the traditional cup of wine always granted to high born guests.  A plate of bread and cheese sat off to one side, looking slightly nibbled upon but mostly intact.  Silent, black-clad guards stood against one wall, seemingly bored but always watching the queen.  _The Queen._ She was raven haired, blue eyed and gorgeous, and Belle’s father was clearly flattered by the attention she was paying him. 

            Belle had only seen her once, but would recognize her anywhere.  _Regina,_ Rumplestiltskin had called her, the Evil Queen.  He’d said she was dangerous, and she’d tried to use Belle once before to— 

            _She can’t know,_ Belle thought desperately, thinking of Rumplestiltskin, helpless and barely conscious.  _She can’t._   Keeping the desperation out of her voice was hard, but she squared her shoulders and tried to look like she hadn’t burst into the room unannounced, like an unruly child.  _Or a terrified lover._  

            “What’s going on, Father?” Belle asked, walking towards his side.  He smiled to see her, rising and wrapping an arm around her. 

            “Queen Regina has kindly offered a solution to our problem,” her father replied jovially.  His eyes were full of life, of _hope_ , and Belle realized with a sinking feeling that her father actually thought whatever Regina’s plan was, it was for the best.  He looked more alive than he had since she’d arrived. 

            “Oh?”  As innocently as she could, Belle met Regina’s eyes, hoping that the woman took her for just another lovesick girl.  

            Unfortunately, the Evil Queen’s eyes seemed to look right into the depths of her soul, and Regina smiled knowingly.  “I am glad to see that you finally took my advice, my dear.  I was beginning to despair for you, locked up in that castle with no one but Rumplestiltskin for company.” 

            Her father flinched at his name.  Again. 

            “It is kind of Your Majesty to worry for me, but we managed just fine,” Belle retorted, the words polite but her voice hard. 

            “Oh, I see that you did.”  Queen Regina’s smile was large and beautiful, but also more than a little triumphant.  

_Did you know?_ Belle wanted to scream at her, to rip her eyes out with her nails. _Did you know how much it would hurt him?_   But she couldn’t say those things without losing every chance of convincing her father not to hand Rumplestiltskin over to this terrifying woman.  Instead, she looked up at her beloved parent, putting all the trust she had for him into her eyes. 

            “Papa, we made a deal with Rumplestiltskin,” she argued softly, reasonably.  “We do not want to break it.” 

            “I…” He softened immediately, shivering a bit at the thought of crossing the famous deal maker.  Had Regina not intervened, Belle might have managed to convince him, too. 

            “Oh, you no longer need to worry about the Dark One.”  The Queen waved a hand airily.  “Your darling daughter has slain the beast, Sir Maurice.  He’s unable to hurt either of you now, and will probably die before too long, anyway.” 

            Had she stabbed Belle in the heart, it would have hurt less.  The words struck her breathless, left her unable to find a coherent argument.  _Dead?  Wouldn’t he have_ known _if breaking the curse would kill him?_   The Evil Queen had to be lying.             

            “And what if he does not?” her father found his voice to ask. 

            Queen Regina smiled.  “That is where I come in, of course.  I will remove him to my dungeon, a very well protected place.  And I will guarantee that he never hurts you or your daughter again.” 

            Her father’s arm squeezed Belle protectively, but she found her voice.  “Papa, he wouldn’t—” 

            “At what price?” her father asked as if he hadn’t heard her. 

            “Oh, my dear Sir Maurice, _I_ am not Rumplestiltskin.  This isn’t a deal.  I’m simply offering to help you.” 

            “Papa, she wants his power,” Belle interjected.  “Not to help us.” 

            “She’s welcome to it,” Maurice muttered. 

            “No, she isn’t,” Belle snarled, twisting to face him even as Queen Regina chuckled amicably, completely ignoring Belle’s objections. 

            “Wonderful.  Are we in agreement, then, Sir Maurice?” 

            Her father opened his mouth to speak, but Belle stepped between them, turning to glare at the Queen.  “I won’t let you do this.” 

            “You can’t stop me.”  Blood red lips curled into a smile again, but her voice was dangerous as she leaned in close until the two women’s faces were inches apart.  “My sweet little Belle.  You have done me a great service, and I find myself in your debt.  Name your price, and I shall make it yours.” 

            “Leave him alone.” 

            “Anything except that, dear,” the Queen laughed.  “Although I see why he liked you.  You have spirit.” 

            “ _Likes._ ”  Belle did not approve of the use of past tense. 

            Queen Regina looked past her dismissively.  “We are in agreement, Sir Maurice?” 

            “Yes.”  Her father wouldn’t meet her eyes, even when Belle spun to stare at him again.  “We do. Please take him away, and leave my family in peace.” 

            “Gladly.” 

            Belle tried to follow as the Queen and her guard swept out, but her father wrapped his arms around her and would not let go, no matter how hard she fought.  Tears blurring her vision, she screamed herself hoarse, shouting at Queen Regina, her father, and anyone else who came nearby.  Belle didn’t see them take Rumplestiltskin away, but she didn’t need to.  She knew where they were going, and she knew the Evil Queen meant to kill him.

 

*****************

 

            The convulsions had become less frequent as they increased in violence, but the tremors became more numerous as if to compensate.  Hands lifted him, making Rumplestiltskin moan in pain, and he heard a woman’s laugh that wasn’t Belle’s.  He recognized it from somewhere, but… 

            He drifted again, feeling magic war against darkness, love war against magic.  The fight for his soul raged on as he endured it helplessly, only able to watch and feel as the darkness which had for so long anchored him struggled to maintain its hold.   Centuries worth of dark magic and a curse had left scars and stains that could not merely be erased, no matter how powerful True Love’s kiss was.  He had known that, had expected a poor reaction from the curse that owned his soul, but Rumplestiltskin had never anticipated pain like this.  The darkness was screaming in his mind, howling against the invader it had not anticipated, clawing and scrambling for purchase in a place it was no longer entirely welcome.  

            They chained him into a cage, but he did not notice.  The convulsions continued apace as the war waged on inside him, and he did not react when the cage was placed inside a cart, and the cart rolled onwards towards another kingdom.  He _did_ have some vague awareness that much of the magic hovering heavily over him had been absorbed by someone else, but Rumplestiltskin had no way of caring.  He just continued to shake, sweat, and convulse, sometimes trying to scream even though he’d long since screamed himself hoarse.

 

*****************

 

            “How could you _do_ that?” Belle demanded furiously, finally able to tear away from her father and wanting to hit him so hard that it knocked his teeth out.  So much of her wanted to run after the Evil Queen immediately, but she knew she’d never catch a witch’s carriage on foot, and her red-hot anger at her father made it impossible to turn away without confronting him. 

            “Belle, sweetheart, I only want you to be safe,” he tried to pacify her. 

            “ _I_ _was safe!_ ” she howled.  Days of pent up frustration roared out of her.  “Rumplestiltskin saved my life!  If he hadn’t come, the clerics would have me, and you could have done _nothing_!” 

            Perhaps the truth was cruel; her father flinched.  “Belle, you are free of him now,” he said softly, pleadingly. 

            “I don’t want to be free of him.” 

            Sir Maurice looked at her in confusion.  “What?” 

            “Don’t you understand?” Belle asked bitterly, tears rolling down her face.  “We kissed, and it broke his curse.  He’s a man under that curse, a lonely, lonely man, and _True Love’s kiss_ broke his curse.   I love him, he saved me, and _this_ is how you repay him?” 

            “Sweetheart, he’s a monster—” 

            “He _is not a monster!_ ” Belle may have screamed the words at her father.  She was so tired of trying to convince Rumplestiltskin of his own humanity, and now her own father had used something he knew nothing about as an excuse to hand Rumplestiltskin to the Evil Queen.  

            Thinking about what Queen Regina would do to him made Belle want to scream in pain and fury, but she stopped herself.  Wailing like a weak woman would only make her father think less of her, and Belle could not afford that now.  Rumplestiltskin needed her to be strong, so strong she would be.  Squaring her shoulders, Belle took a deep breath and wiped her tears away.  

            “He’s not a monster, Papa,” she repeated more calmly.  “I have lived with Rumplestiltskin for almost a year, and I have seen the humanity inside him.  I _love_ him, Papa, and that’s not something you can change.  You can’t change True Love.” 

            “You must be mistaken,” her father replied weakly. 

            “I’m not.  And that’s why we have to save him.”

 

*****************

 

            The distance between Avonlea and the kingdom that should have belonged to Snow White was far enough that it took the fastest horses four days to cross, but with the aid of magic, Regina’s carriage covered the miles in less than one.    Usually immune to the effects of such magic, Rumplestiltskin found himself retching and shaking like any... _normal_ human.  Aware enough to know when the carriage rolled to a stop, another wave of dizziness rolled over him as Regina’s guards lifted the cage, and his attempt to throw up set off more convulsions.  A little corner of his mind registered how humiliating the experience was, but then his consciousness folded under as another racking surge of magic and pain hit. 

            It was still his magic.  He was coherent enough to realize that as the scream tore out of his chest.  Or it was the _curse’s_ magic, anyway.  Rumplestiltskin had thought of it as his own for so long that the two had become inseparable.  Now, however… 

            The next time he convulsed, the back of his head hit stone.  He tried to open an eye, but was greeted with only a blur, and then a metal gauntlet crashed into his face.  Moaning in pain, his eyes slid shut again, and the swirl of power engulfed him once more.  He could hear the sound of a hammer striking metal, but wasn’t sure if it was from inside his skull or outside it.  He _felt_ like there was a hammer pounding away inside his head, like the magic was trying desperately to beat its way out of his body and soul.  It sent waves of agony through him, his body trembling with each one. 

            Hands forced him into a sitting position, with his back against a wall of some sort.  He hadn’t felt this weak in centuries, but blows fell every time he tried to move.  The physical assault only intensified the battle of magics raging inside him, and Rumplestiltskin continued to struggle for air, moaning softly and flinching away as beating continued.  Several minutes passed before they stopped, leaving him wheezing and trying to scream. 

            Cold metal closed around his neck, pushing his head back into the stone wall.  Something sizzled, and then the metal turned burning hot against his skin.  Another scream tore out of him, and his head jerked back into the wall a second time.  This time, thankfully, the convulsion was hard enough to knock him back into unconsciousness, to give him a short respite from the magic raging against itself.

 

*****************

 

            Belle left in the dead of night.  Arguing with her father had proven pointless; shout though she did, plead though she might, Sir Maurice remained adamant that Belle remain safe in Avonlea.  Her suggestion that he send Gaston and a company of men with her fell on deaf ears, and she finally gave up fighting with him.  It no use, and if he thought she’d given up, her father might stop hovering.  She wasn’t able to leave that first night—her father was watching far too closely, and kept thanking every deity he could think of that Belle was home and safe.  Of course, she was grateful for the love he showed her, for the hugs and comforting…but he still wasn’t listening.  He still didn’t understand. 

            So she packed a bag the day after the Queen took Rumplestiltskin away, and slipped out long after the castle went to sleep.  Leaving with only her horse and what she could fit into a simple pack, Belle strapped on her father’s old sword and headed into the night.  She had no idea how she was going to manage to rescue Rumplestiltskin, or how she would get him back to the Dark Castle, but she was going to do it.  Somehow. 

            Three days into her journey, she ran into two people who changed her life forever.

 

*****************

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has commented and left kudos! In the meantime, a few questions from me to you: 1) Do you think Regina was lying about Rumplestiltskin dying from the curse breaking, and if so, why? 2) Who do you think Belle is going to run into on the road?
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and stay tuned for Chapter 4, in which Regina and Rumplestiltskin have an interesting chat and Belle makes new friends.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rumplestiltskin and Regina have a chat, and Belle makes friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: a bit of violence and torture in this one. Regina's doing her darnedest to be evil, y'know?

            “So good to see you awake, dear.”

            Rumplestiltskin tried to bite back the moan before it could escape, but it got out, anyway.  He’d started convulsing again with depressing regularity as light and dark hammered away at one another with renewed energy.  He wasn’t sure what had set the magic off again, but _something_ sure as hell had, and every time he opened his eyes, the dungeon spun wildly.  Breathing was hard, but he forced himself to focus on her, anyway.

             “Regina.”  The word came out as only half a snarl, with his chest so tight and breathing agony.  He hadn’t been entirely sure that he was in her hands until now, hadn’t been able to focus enough on his surroundings to identify anything beyond the fact that he was in a dungeon.  The fact that he’d been moved by carriage indicated that he wasn’t in some dungeon in Avonlea, and the magic that had sped the journey along hinted at one of his more powerful enemies, but now her presence confirmed it.

            Her smile was deadly.  “You’re looking so… _human_ , Rumple.  It’s not a good look on you.”

            “I’m sorry to see that I don’t merit your approval.”  He tried a dry chuckle, but the laughter ended in painful coughing and a few more convulsions.  His heart was racing with panic, but he’d be damned if he’d show her that.  Not after everything.

            “Tell me, how _did_ that kiss work out for you?” she taunted him.

             Rumplestiltskin snarled. 

            Laughing, Regina reached out to touch his hair.  He jerked away, nearly choking himself in the process, but her hand never reached him.  It ran into resistance inches away, hovering in the air above him until Regina scowled and snatched her hand away.

            She moved too late; magic rolled off of him in a vicious wave, throwing her back several steps.  Her back hit the bars hard, and the Queen cried out in pain.  Despite his attempts not to, he screamed with her, struggling for air and enduring the tremors that tore through his protesting body.  By the time Rumplestiltskin could focus again, Regina had regained her composure.  And her smile.

            “Lost control of the magic, did you?” she asked.

            “You could try stating something a little less obvious, dearie,” he panted.

            “How long do you think this will go on, I wonder?” Regina looked pensive, flicking a hand in his direction.  It was only a small spark of magic, but it hit him in the dead center of the chest and pain exploded inside him again.

            Several minutes passed before Rumplestiltskin could stop screaming.  The unexpected agony made him pull feebly at the shackles holding him, but his neck and wrists remained firmly attached to the wall, with his hands at about shoulder level and spread away from him.  The metal bands holding him were thick and strong, and he could feel the magic woven into them tingling against his skin.  There were shackles on his ankles, too, though those were separated by a chain that ran through a ring on the floor.  Someone had stripped him of his dragonhide coat and tall boots, leaving him clad only in leather breaches and a silk shirt, something he might not have noticed had said shirt not been sticking to his right side in an ominous manner.

            He’d been stabbed there…how many days ago was it?  He’d not bothered to heal himself immediately, having been too worried about Belle, but now that oversight was proving surprisingly painful.

            “How much magic _can_ I absorb before the curse runs its course?” Regina asked him when he ignored her previous question, still struggling for air as he convulsed.  The introduction of her magic had only intensified the darkness’ clawing at his soul, and Rumplestiltskin felt like his insides were shredding under the pressure.  Or was that his soul?

            “Be careful what you wish for.”  Cough.  “It might prove more than you can handle.”

            Regina laughed.  “Your concern is touching, but I know what I’m doing.”

            Pain rocketed through him without warning, and lights exploded in front of his eyes.  His head snapped back on its own, cracking hard into the stone once more, but it was _his_ magic again, lashing out at any target in sight.  Regina managed to shield herself from most of it, but Rumplestiltskin could _not_ , and he screamed hoarsely.  His chains rattled as his body convulsed, and a ragged sob made it past his failing efforts at self-control before he could stop it.

            Had Regina’s magical poke made it worse, or was it just the curse continuing to fight?  He had no standard of comparison, no knowledge to fall back upon.  After all, it was not like any of his predecessors had ever _found_ a True Love, let alone been so foolish as to kiss said woman.  _Belle._   Thinking of her was both soothing and excruciatingly painful.

             “You have _no_ idea what you’re doing, dearie,” he finally managed to wheeze.  “I know who taught you, remember?”

             _And I sure as hell didn’t teach you anything about this._

             “You did teach me,” she purred, stepping forward and leaning close again, but not stupid enough to try to touch him.  Her guards had been able to, however, so it must be those with magic that were affected by the uncontrollable outpouring of power.  He didn’t _think_ it had hurt Belle, prayed it had not.  Regina’s next words brought him back to the present.  “You taught me to take every advantage I could.  To _use_ every bit of magic I find, and to twist it to my own ends.  I never expected _you_ to be someone I could own, but I’ll take what you’ve offered, Rumple.”

            He managed a scoff, instinctively reaching for magic to try something nasty, embracing the darkness hovering over them like an old friend.  Rumplestiltskin hadn’t been coherent enough to _try_ magic before now, but anger drove him to it.  Anger and the fear of being kept here indefinitely, to be used as some sort of power supply until the curse had run through its vicious cycle, and then what?  Regina was fond of her toys; he’d mocked her for it enough over the years.  He’d be damned if he’d become one.

            But reaching for magic was like thrusting his entire body into a fire.

             Back arching away from the wall, Rumplestiltskin screeched in pain, convulsing hard enough to almost tear the shackles free of the stone.  The darkness turned inward and hammered _him_ , making his mind fold under with the pressure.  He tried to cling to coherency through the maelstrom of agony, but he was hemorrhaging magic and unable to think.  All he could do was scream.

            Somewhere in there, he vomited blood up on himself, still convulsing as the magic gave his body newfound energy to jerk even harder.  Spasms shook his limbs as the curse dug its claws in, rending and tearing and _attacking_ the sliver of something better that had taken root inside him.  Time and again, Rumplestiltskin had talked about the power of True Love, but he’d never actually experienced it firsthand.  That tiny pocket of light within him only served to enrage the darkness that had so long _owned_ him, and the curse tore at him with renewed interest now that he’d tried to use magic.  The screams kept coming, bloody and painful and fueling the fury of a thwarted curse.

            At least an hour, maybe more, passed before Rumplestiltskin wore himself out, shaking like a leaf and sobbing for air.  He could still feel the magic, the curse, hovering watchfully and ready to pounce, but obviously any attempt to control it would bring down another attack.  He had to blink tears out of his eyes in order to focus, and much to his surprise, Regina was still there.

             She was now safely on the _other_ side of the bars, of course.  Regina was no fool.

             Too exhausted to think up something to say to her, he let himself slump, glad that his back was against the wall.  He barely had the energy to hold his head up, but wasn’t about to grant her that victory.  The looming presence of the curse was the most terrifying thing he had ever seen in his life, and he could actually _see_ it now, swirling like a dark cloud against the ceiling of the cell.  Regina watched it warily, too, knowing enough to realize the danger inherent in the world’s oldest and darkest curse.  It was waiting for someone to claim its power, Rumplestiltskin realized.  Waiting for someone to kill him and become the next Dark One.  His curse wasn’t designed to be broken like this, and it demanded a host—but it only knew one way to transition from one Dark One to the next, and no one had provided that bridge.

             No one would, either.  The dagger was safe in the Dark Castle, and it would take Regina far longer to find it than his battered body would last like this.  Not that she wanted the curse.  No, Regina wanted the power, but not the consequences.  In that respect, she was much smarter than her mother ever had been.

             “Worried it might attack you, too, dearie?” he managed, actually curious to see what her response would be.

             “I’m not crazy enough to find out,” she snapped.

             “Oh, good.  I’m glad to hear you learned something in all those lessons,” Rumplestiltskin sneered, but his heart wasn’t in it.  Tremors still tore through his body, painful and exhausting.

             “You really did a number on yourself this time, didn’t you?”

             A laugh tore out of him, low and honestly amused, and for a moment they were in agreement.  “I certainly did.”

             Would he have still kissed Belle if he’d known it would be like this?  The coward inside him screamed no, but with the removal of the curse—or its displacement to the ceiling, anyway—Rumplestiltskin found it easier to be honest with himself.  He’d been drawn to her for months, and wasn’t sure he’d have been able to stop himself even if he’d _thought_ about the consequences.  Not so soon after almost losing her, when he had twisted an enormous amount of power into saving her, damning whatever price it demanded of him.  He _loved_ her, and that was an exquisitely amazing pain all in itself.  

             The brief feeling of camaraderie vanished as Regina flicked magic at him again, just a tiny bit.  It still made him convulse and scream in pain.

             “Bitch,” Rumplestiltskin managed, panting.  He didn’t like resorting to petty name calling, but he didn’t have energy for more.

             “I’m the Evil Queen, remember?” However, Regina’s lazy smile was a moment slow in coming, and he saw something flicker through her eyes.  She’d always been fragile, Regina, for all her many strengths.  Normally, he’d have taunted her for that, but everything hurt too much.

             “Oh, I remember.”  He let his voice turn dark, mostly out of habit.  “And don’t forget what I am, either.”

             “What you _were_ is crawling on the ceiling, Rumplestiltskin.  Now you’re nothing.” 

             He didn’t have an answer for that, and she swept out.

 

*****************

 

            It had started as a chase by her father’s men, who had undoubtedly been sent to bring Belle safely home.  She evaded them shortly before nightfall, only to run afoul of a squad of the _Queen’s_ men, who were busy chasing a dark haired girl with murder in their eyes.  Already furious with Queen Regina, Belle decided that rescuing someone the Evil Queen wanted was a good way to start antagonizing the woman, so she offered the girl a hand up onto her mount, and they fled together.  The guards were on foot and Belle’s horse swift, despite the added burden of a second young woman, and they outdistanced the black-clad soldiers easily.

             Two hours later found Belle and her companion sitting in front of a fire with a third young woman, this one wearing a striking red cloak. 

             “Thank you again for rescuing me,” her new friend said as the third girl offered them both bread. 

             Belle smiled.  “It’s no problem.  Anyone running from Queen Regina is a friend of mine.”

             “That’s a dangerous statement to make.”  The other two exchanged glances, and Belle sighed.

             “I’m going about this all wrong, aren’t I?” she asked.  “I’m Belle.”

             “I’m Red,” the girl with the cloak answered.  “And this is Mary.”

             “Nice to meet you.”  The girls shook hands after a moment, not sure how else to greet one another.  After all, they were hardly at court, wearing dresses and curtsying. 

             Somehow, their shared and uneasy smiles seemed to break the silence, and suddenly they were laughing together.  “You should have seen her,” Mary said after a moment.  “Riding right through the Queen’s men as if she was some knight.  I think she ran one of them over!”

             “I hope I did,” Belle replied, surprising herself by how much she meant that.  For all she knew, those knights might have helped take Rumplestiltskin away.  “They didn’t exactly look like they planned to be nice to you.”

             “I’m sure they didn’t.”  Mary shrugged, trying to look casual, but Belle could see the pain in her eyes.  “Regina wants me dead.”

             The words came out before Belle could stop herself.  “What for?” 

             “It’s a long story.”

             And a painful one, Belle could tell, so didn’t press.  “Then I won’t ask,” she said kindly, and was rewarded with a smile.

             “Why do you hate her so much?” Red asked.

             Surely the truth was better than a lie.  Belle took a deep breath, thinking of Rumplestiltskin convulsing helplessly, carried away by guards dressed like the ones she had rescued Mary from.  What would she do if he was dead already?  Would she know?  Just thinking of losing him was absolutely crippling, but she pushed the thoughts aside resolutely.

             “She took my True Love,” Belle answered honestly, but didn’t say his name.  _Not too much truth, dearie._   Her inner voice even sounded like his cynicism, and a small, sad smile crossed her face.  But she remembered her father’s reaction to the fact that she loved Rumplestiltskin, so she left it at that.

             “Oh, Belle, that’s awful.”  Mary took her hand gently.  Belle felt equal parts grateful for the comfort and guilty for her deception, but she managed another pained smile.

             “Why would she want your True Love?” Red wondered.

             “She hates him,” Belle started, looking for another innocuous explanation, but Mary cut in before she could find one.

             “Regina hates _love_ ,” the black-haired girl said, her voice hard.  “Ever since she lost hers, she hates the idea of anyone else being _happy._ ”

             Belle had always been good at reading people, and could see the wealth of hurt behind Mary’s experiences.  But she’d promised not to ask, and she _wanted_ these two to like her.  It had been a long time since she’d had friends who weren’t servants—most of the well-born companions from her childhood had been taken away by their parents to safety when the war with the Ogres started.  So she didn’t press, and she didn’t dare tell them who she loved.  Not if she wanted them to believe her.

             Red changed the subject, and they talked through the night.  Belle figured she’d be on her way in the morning, continuing onwards towards the palace that the Dark Queen called home, until Mary spoke up.  “You should stay with us.”

             “What?” Belle looked at her in surprise.  “Oh, I couldn’t.  I have to find him.  I don’t care what it takes.”

             “It could get you killed,” Red pointed out sensibly.

             She shrugged.  “That’s a risk I have to take.  I can’t leave him there.”

             Not with what the Queen was probably doing to him.  Not with the pain he’d been in the last time she saw him, weak and helpless and exhausted.  Belle could no more have abandoned him than she could have commanded herself to stop breathing.

             “Then we’ll help you,” Mary said suddenly, squeezing her hand again. 

             “What?” Belle and Red echoed together in shock. 

             Mary’s face was grim with determination, but the look made her more beautiful than Belle had ever seen anyone look.  “I grew up in the palace. I can get us in.  And back out again.”

           

*****************

 

            Regina had set out a few choice items to absorb the magic, he noticed groggily.  Not nearly so foolish as to try to absorb it herself the way her mother would have, the Queen put a simple staff and a box outside the cell to soak up the power that still rolled off him in unpredictable waves.  He’d hoped that time would lessen the storm of power, but every time it looked ready to abate, Regina flicked magic at him to get it started again.  Rumplestiltskin was not coherent enough to judge the number of days that had passed, or to accurately measure the amount of power that the curse had thrown at him and out of him.  He just knew it left him feeling like a ragdoll, limp and ill-used.

             He’d given up on screaming, but moaning hurt his bleeding throat almost as much.  Focusing was becoming very hard, and the wound in his side was starting to fester, adding a fever to his myriad of other problems.  The cloud of power still hovered over his head, shifting and growling enough that he expected a lightning storm to start at any time.  The curse was still waiting for a new host, and part of Rumplestiltskin was tempted to invite it back.

             He could, he knew.  Banish the love he felt for Belle and let the darkness consume him the way it had in the beginning.  Losing Baelfire had shaken him loose of some of the curse’s iron grip, had made him realize how very _lonely_ he was and how much he’d messed up.  He had gone from a simple spinner who wanted nothing more than to protect his son to a monster who his son feared.  _Knowing_ what the curse did to him did not keep the darkness from sinking its hooks into his soul, but he had been able to manage it a little better since losing Bae.  He struck deals to contain it, carefully channeling both the magic _and_ its price.  Never again would he be careless with his power as he had been in the early days; Rumplestiltskin had found something of a balance.  He had let the darkness own him, but only on his terms.  A small corner of his crushed soul remained his own, a tiny bit of the father Bae had loved.  And then Belle had found that man hiding within the monster.

             To get the power back he’d have to break down those barriers.  He’d have to let go of Belle, ignore True Love like he had meant to.  To be selfish and terrified.  To embrace every horror the curse drove him towards, to revel in the darkness and the fury.  Letting the curse back in would mean abandoning every last vestige of the man Belle and Bae had both loved.

             Coward though he was, Rumplestiltskin discovered that he couldn’t do it.  Belle had reawakened something inside him that he thought was gone forever, and he wouldn’t betray that.

  _“I won’t kiss you again unless you want me to,” she said bluntly.  “But I’m not leaving unless you make me, either.”_

_He turned to stare at her, the confusing whiplash of his own emotions so strong that it swept all efforts at speech away.  Belle put a hand on his arm, and her touch was like fire.  It made him want to melt and apologize, to break down then and there and tell her how he felt._

_She’d called him a coward, however, and she was right.  So he clung to the shreds of his dignity and remained silent.  Belle smiled sadly._

_“I promised forever, Rumplestiltskin,” she reminded him, squeezing his arm gently.  “I meant it.”_

_He swallowed hard.  “Then you should go back to your room.  And stop being a servant.  Servants don’t promise forever.”_

_It was as close to an apology as he could manage without going to pieces, but the radiant smile that warmed Belle’s face was reward enough._        

            Pain tore him out of the memory, and Rumplestiltskin gasped sharply.  A metal-toed boot shoved hard into the bleeding wound in his side, grinding in and making agony shoot up his chest.  The toe withdrew, only to come back in a hard kick, and somehow he found the energy to scream in pain.

             The magic swirled ominously overhead, offering revenge and destruction and power.  It poked at him on its own, making him sob hoarsely, trying to see if the sliver of soul shielded by an older and greater magic was willing to give up.  The power gathered, beckoned, enticed.  It was familiar and seductive, limitless and intoxicating.  He could have it all back.  All he had to do was give himself to the curse, become what those before him had been: a creature of darkness and violence, with no ability to love or count the costs.  Soulless.  He had always been slightly different from his predecessors because _love_ had driven Rumplestiltskin to take the curse and its power on, but in order to have it back, he’d have to betray the very core of himself.

             When one of the guards stomped on his right calf, he almost gave in.

             Rumplestiltskin howled in pain, his vision going white.  The old injury had never been something he could actually _fix_ ; it had healed incorrectly long before he’d become the Dark One.  He’d managed it with magic over the intervening years, made the joints work properly and the pain vanish via sheer power rather than addressing the underlying problem.  It had seemed too painful to try to re-break the healed bones when he could just overcome the issue, particularly because he’d never been certain he could fix it properly even if he did so.  Now he wished he’d made the effort.

             The beating began in earnest as something solid hit him in the ribcage.  The viciousness of the blows took him by surprise, and Rumplestiltskin tried to curl in on himself, but the chains held him fast.  The blows kept falling, bringing him back to the terrified spinner, making him remember what it had been like to be helpless and alone.  He remembered careless beatings from people because they could, remembered kneeling to kiss a boot because he could not fight back.  Desperate instinct made him reach for the magic again, but not the way it wanted, and the curse crashed down on him once more, ripping at his soul until he was screeching and sobbing in pain.

             On the bright side, they stopped beating him while the curse was busy attacking.  Had he to guess, Rumplestiltskin figured that none of the guards wanted anything to do with that dense black cloud, particularly when it descended upon him like this, so brutal that it physically bruised his face and his arms.  Unfortunately, the curse drew back before he could slip into unconsciousness, and then the guards closed back in.

             Somewhere between broken ribs and another blow to his right leg, he passed out.

            

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the lovely comments! For anyone who hasn't watched season 1 in a while, Mary is the name Snow introduces herself to Granny with for the first time. She’s trying to stay in hiding at the moment, so she gives Belle a false name. On a timeline note – this chapter takes place before Snow meets Charming. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and stay tuned for Chapter 5, where Snow sends a spy into the Queen’s dungeons and Regina tries to figure Rumplestiltskin out. In the meantime, let me know if you think Rumplestiltskin will let the curse back in or not—knowing him, it could go either way!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle gets to know Snow and Red, and Rumplestiltskin learns a new trick.

Belle and her companions had to take their time approaching the Evil Queen’s castle.  Even though Mary clearly knew the outlying towns well—and knew enough people _in_ those towns to receive help—there were guards everywhere and sneaking in would be difficult at best.  The first thing they had to do was acquire three uniforms to disguise themselves with, preferably without harming any of the Queen’s guards in the process.  None of them were so soft hearted that they shied away from knocking out a few of her henchmen, but stealing the uniforms was a much better plan.  It took two days to do so, but once they had all three uniforms, they could go in at any time, without having to worry that someone would notice missing guards before they were ready. 

            Eight days after Regina had taken Rumplestiltskin away—ten days after the horribly inconveniently timed kiss—Belle found herself sitting in a hayloft with Red and Mary, sharing a simple dinner that all three struggled to swallow around their nerves. 

            _Eight days._ The thought made her want to cry, but Belle refused to let her worries get the better of her.  Rumplestiltskin was the most stubborn man she’d ever met.  He’d survive. 

            A bird flew in, startling Belle so much that she jumped, almost dropping her small bowl of stew.  Chuckling at herself, she met Red’s eyes, and they both smiled a little sheepishly.  Mary’s ability to talk to birds was cute, if somewhat unnerving, but at least that meant they could get a spy inside the Evil Queen’s dungeons. 

            “I was starting to think that the bird would never come back,” Red whispered to her while Mary was busy with the bird. 

            “I was starting to think that something had _eaten_ the bird,” Belle agreed. 

            “What, like me?” Red grinned back. 

            Two days earlier, Belle had been unable to stop herself from asking what magic was in the cloak Red wore so ardently.  Belle had been exposed to magic so often over the last year that she’d learned to recognize its presence, but she’d never seen a cloak like Red’s.  Nor had she expected the answer she received. 

            The conversation had not gone too well, but eventually Belle had managed to convince her new friend that she didn’t care what kind of ‘monster’ Red was during wolfs time.  She cared who Red was, and who Red chose to be, not what curse was on her.  They’d grown much closer after that, and Belle knew she’d made friends for life with Red and Mary.  So, now she smiled back, feeling her worries lift ever so slightly. 

            “Too small,” she replied lightly.  “And far too many feathers.  Can you imagine picking those out of your teeth?” 

            Red giggled softly, but both turned to Mary the moment the bird flew away, distractions forgotten. 

            “Well?” Belle demanded breathlessly. 

            “The cardinal says that Regina does have a new prisoner in the dungeon,” Mary confirmed.  But then she hesitated, making a giant hand clench around Belle’s heart. 

            “What else?” she whispered. 

            “She says there’s a lot of screaming.”  Mary’s compassionate face twisted up in a reflection of Belle’s pain.  “Birds can’t tell us a lot of details, but she does know that.” 

            “Oh.” 

            Her shoulders were shaking, but Belle couldn’t make them stop.  She had expected it, and yet—she closed her eyes hard against the images her imagination tried to conjure up.  When she opened them, Red and Mary had both moved closer to her, and Red’s arm was around her shoulders.  Belle leaned into the embrace gratefully as a few tears trickled down her face, but she’d cried herself out days ago.  She wasn’t going to weep until she knew his fate one way or another.  Belle was going to fight. 

            “I can’t imagine that he’s made it any easier on himself,” she finally said, her voice muffled slightly in Ruby’s shoulder.  A pained smile crossed her face as she straightened, brushing hair away from her still-stinging eyes.  “He’s the most infuriating man I’ve ever known.” 

            “I think I know a prince that could give him a run for his money,” Mary answered after a moment, a smile flirting with her expression. 

            Belle gulped out a laugh.  “Oh, I doubt that.  I told him that I loved him _months_ ago, and it took me almost getting kidnapped and killed by some clerics for him to admit he loved me.  And then _he_ almost got killed, and now Queen Regina has him.”  The last words almost came out as a sob, but Belle held herself under rigid control.  “He’s an idiot, but I love him so much it hurts.” 

            “That does sound pretty stupid,” Red agreed. 

            “The problem is that he’s brilliant.”  Belle sighed.  “He’s just not very good at admitting someone could love him, too.”  That wasn’t saying too much, was it? 

            “How did you wind up with him, then?” Mary asked, and for a moment Belle wondered who Mary’s mystery prince was.  

            “It’s a long, complicated story.  But the books say that it isn’t True Love if you don’t have to work for it, and he’s worth it.  Even if my Papa hates him.”  Hate wasn’t a strong enough word, but she wasn’t about to describe her father’s mindless terror, not if she intended to keep quiet who her True Love was. 

            On the bright side, it wasn’t like Rumplestiltskin looked like people expected him to.  Even if Queen Regina hadn’t laid a hand on him, the last time Belle had seen him, he looked so very _human_ that neither Mary nor Red would suspect.  She felt bad for deceiving them, but Belle was savvy enough to know that she’d lose her two new friends if she told them who she was rescuing.  She didn’t _want_ to lose them, not after the three of them had already been through so much together, and though she knew that lying always made things worse in the end, she couldn’t figure out how to tell the truth without making it worse _now._  

            “That’s why you came after him alone,” Red realized aloud. 

            Belle nodded.  “I can’t leave him there.  I _won’t_ leave him there.  Not while there’s any chance at all of rescue.” 

            He wouldn’t leave her if their roles were reversed.  Even before he’d said the words, Belle knew that.  Rumplestiltskin had shown his love for her in small ways after their failed kiss. Perhaps it had been his way of making up for almost throwing her out, or maybe they’d just been feeling their way towards something better.  Either way, she cherished the memories of the early and awkward days of their courtship, and one welled up as she tried desperately to fight back despair.  Despite herself, Belle smiled, remembering: 

            _“Hello, hello, hell—Oh.  What_ did _you do to my castle, Belle?”_

_The confounded look on his face made her start giggling.  Belle hadn’t done much to warrant Rumplestiltskin’s ire, but his expression screamed that Belle had lit the castle on fire and salted the ashes.  He stood in the entrance of the great hall, having just returned from making some deal, with his arms crossed petulantly and his face forlorn._

_“It’s only some flowers,” Belle retorted with a smile.  She knew him even better now, two months after that aborted kiss, and still wasn’t afraid to tease him a little._

_“Some?”  He gestured wildly at the giant array of flowers.  Belle had spent the entire morning picking roses from the garden, and finding baby’s breath with which to garnish her arrangement.  Deep in the bowels of one of the castle’s many storage rooms, she had found a beautiful basin in which to display them.  Hauling it up to great hall and hoisting it onto the table took some work, but Belle was very pleased with the result.  The room smelled_ wonderful _, and if flowers were spilling out of it and onto the table, Belle still liked the artful way it looked._

_“Well, a lot.”  Belle grinned cheekily at him.  She’d been sitting on the table when he arrived, book in hand, and now she let her legs swing casually as she put the book down, wondering if the next stage of her plan would work or not._

_He sniffed, but she could see no real ire behind the expression. “You’re ruining my image.”_

_“Happily.”_

_“The flowers belong_ in _the garden, dear.  Not all over the table.”  Rumplestiltskin scowled._

            _“Come here.”  She hopped off the table, holding a hand out to him.  “Look what else I found.”_

_He accepted the offered hand and let Belle drag him over to the side of the room, where an ornate magical box sat.  The top of the box had a twisted horn spiraling off of it, and though it was covered in gold and jewels and was far more elegant than those she remembered, Belle had owned a magical music box like this one in her childhood.  Before the war had come, before her father had sold nearly everything of such value off, she had loved to listen to the many tunes the box could play.  The amount of gold their old music box had brought in was enough to pay a company of mercenaries for a month, and Belle could only imagine how much this one was worth.  And of course, she’d found it rotting in storage because it was worth less than the various other trinkets and treasures Rumplestiltskin kept on display, and he didn’t find it interesting._

_“It’s a music box,” he said with a shrug._

_“Will you make it play for me?” Belle asked, feeling a little more bashful than she’d intended to.  But he hadn’t pulled away from her; Rumplestiltskin’s hand was still clasped in hers, warm to the touch._

_She’d been so careful about touching him since the failed kiss, since he’d almost sent her away.  They’d finally spoken about it several weeks earlier, haltingly and carefully, but the awkwardness between them remained._

_However, he waved a hand like there had never been trouble between them, smiling.  “Done.”_

_Beautiful, uplifting notes started immediately, filling the room with music.  Before she’d asked him to make it play, Belle hadn’t thought of how_ happy _it would make her to hear music again, for her home had been without anything so beautiful since the wars started when she was twelve._

_“Dance with me?” she asked hopefully._

_Rumplestiltskin stared at her for a moment, his expression inscrutable.  And then he bowed over the hand he still held._

_“Your wish is my command,” he murmured, and then swept her into a dance._

           

*****************

He’d learned not to try to touch the magic looming over him, and also to feign unconsciousness when the guards came.  Perhaps doing so was cowardly, but it gave Rumplestiltskin some respite from the pain.  It also gave him time to think, time to figure out if his suddenly human mind could keep pace with the one the curse had granted him.  He’d become a spinner in more ways than just spinning straw into gold, an arbitrager of futures and fates **.** But had he grown, or had the curse just given him greater intelligence along with the foggy memories of those who had been consumed before him?  He was terrified to find out how weak he had become. 

            However, between the beatings and the magic battering him, Rumplestiltskin discovered that he could still _think_.  He had no idea if he was ever going to make it out of Regina’s dungeon alive—although every day he spent there exponentially increased the chances of survival—but he could still _plan._   And if there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that Regina had no intention of killing him.  Yet. 

            That meant he had to start preparing to play the long game he’d perfected over the years, had to start figuring out how to twist this situation to his advantage.  Dwelling on what he had lost would do him no good, much though he’d wallowed in that misery for the first few days.  

            The curse hadn’t stopped looming over him, moving in cloudy wisps against the ceiling, swirling, watching, _waiting._   Despite the waves of magic that had burst out of him already, there was still enough of it inside him to continue raging against that same small flicker of light.  He _thought_ that the battle was dying down, or perhaps his own exhaustion was simply pressing down harder.  Rumplestiltskin had no idea how much damage the repeated beatings had done; his old awareness of his environs had vanished under the haze of pain and magic-induced convulsions.  But he did know that his lower right leg was a mess, with the ankle bent unnaturally and blood coating his leg from the knee down.  Regina had either noticed the old injury or she’d been lucky; regardless, the leg throbbed worse than ever. 

            Breathing _burned,_ and it wasn’t just the after effects of the last magical battle.  Something was seriously wrong in the vicinity of his ribcage, something other than the very infected wound in his right side.  Keeping his eyes open was getting harder and harder, and as hard as he tried to force himself to think, Rumplestiltskin found himself yearning for blackness.  The only thing that kept him from letting go and letting himself sink into nothingness was the thought of Belle.  _Belle_ , who had taught him to love again, taught him that there was something more to life than darkness and power. 

            Thinking of her kept him sane, and gave him the courage to face the pain. 

            A blow came out of nowhere, snapping his head around and smashing his right cheek into the wall.  Something _cracked_ , and Rumplestiltskin screamed weakly.  Another few kicks landed, leaving him gasping for air and struggling to get his eyes open.  A wave of magic surged outwards at the same time as a boot impacted with his right side, leaving him sobbing and drained.  Several long seconds passed before he could catch his breath, and by the time he managed to make sense of the dizzy blur, Regina was standing in front of him. 

            She hadn’t been to visit, at least while he was conscious, since that first time.  Rumplestiltskin really wished she wouldn’t now, either; he wasn’t sure if he had the energy to face her right now. 

            Not that she’d give him any choice in the matter. 

            “You’re looking rather peaked, Rumple,” Regina purred. 

            He wasn’t going to bother trying to deny it.  Even raising his eyes to glare at her hurt.  “Do you have a…point?” 

            Speaking was harder than he’d expected it to be.  

            “I was wondering, actually, what it feels like to be so utterly _normal_ after so long as the Dark One,” she replied.  “How long _has_ it been, anyway?” 

            “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he whispered raggedly, scraping up a pained smile. 

            Regina flicked magic at him, and Rumplestiltskin screamed in pain.  The world swirled around him again, and the scream rapidly turned into a coughing fit.  Never very patient, Regina’s foot was tapping by the time he had a shred of control over his body. 

            “Don’t be a fool,” she spat.  “You know it’s in my power to determine how you spend the rest of your life.  Don’t you want comfort when this”—Regina gestured at the still-looming cloud of darkness—“is over?” 

            “You’re going to have to go looking elsewhere for your answers, dearie.”  _Knowledge is power_.  He could still hold that over her.  He almost laughed, but thought better of it.  Laughing would hurt, but Regina could be so transparent sometimes.  

            Baiting her was dangerous in his present condition, though.  Regina’s clenched fist opened, and power arced outwards, striking Rumplestiltskin in the chest.  This wasn’t just a spark, either; it was nasty and dark and intended to _hurt_.  Muscles started twitching and spasming the moment the spell hit him, and Rumplestiltskin’s head snapped back and hit the wall again.  Crackling, the dark glow of Regina’s spell slowly spread outwards, engulfing him in a vortex of pain. 

            For over two hours, he could do nothing except convulse and scream, caught in the grip of her spell.  The pain left him limp and almost unable to speak, but by the time Regina returned, he was laughing softly.  She’d been so careful, until this moment.  She’d watched every bit of magic she threw at him, confident though she was that he couldn’t do a thing to defend himself.  But now Regina had finally slipped up.  The Evil Queen hadn’t ever stopped to consider that he might be able to touch _her_ magic, even while his own swam in circles on the ceiling, and touch it he could.  Breaking a curse didn’t erase three hundred years of working magic.  Not at all. 

            “You’re going mad,” she marveled quietly.           

            That made him bark out another laugh, short and sharp, feeling the small spark magic swirl inside him, quiet and waiting.  “Madness is relative, _Your Majesty,_ ” Rumplestiltskin whispered through cracked and bleeding lips. 

            She threw another spell at him and stormed off when he cried out in pain, never bothering to verify its effectiveness.  He bottled the magic up for a rainy day, and waited. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left a comment! To answer a question I’ve gotten a few times, for those of you also reading “Original Powers”, what happens to Rumplestiltskin when his curse is broken here is nothing like what happens in that story. Although the premise is similar in regards to his curse, the power behind the curse in OP does not exist here.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and stay tuned for Chapter 6, in which Snow shanghai-es an old friend into helping them break into Regina’s castle. In the meantime, riddle me this: do you think Belle will successfully rescue her True Love, or will Rumplestiltskin have pulled a trick out of his sleeve in time?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Belle, Snow, and Red sneak into the Evil Queen's castle.

Surprisingly, Mary managed better than just stealing three uniforms.  She stole an entire Captain of the Guard.

            Well, to be fair, Mary co-opted a _former_ Captain of the Guard.  Captain Grimsby had retired five or so years earlier, but had apparently known Mary well enough that he’d commit treason for her.  Red and Belle didn’t ask too many questions, but the kindly old man smiled upon Mary almost like she was his daughter—which she swore to them she wasn’t—and promised to help them in any way he could. 

            His help turned out to be not just limited to showing them how to wear their uniforms, either.  Grimsby was able to get them a set of master keys to the dungeon as well as a copy of the current schedule the guards kept to.  He wouldn’t say how he got the schedule, but swore it was accurate, and Mary insisted that they could trust him.  The best time to go in, Grimsby told them, was around dinnertime.  The Queen was fond of her multi-course feasts, and was not likely to visit any prisoner during a mealtime, no matter how fascinating said prisoner was.

            “You have to accept the fact that this man of yours may not be alive, lass,” Grimsby told Belle gently.  “Men don’t tend to last long in her hands, particularly if they defy her.” 

            “He will,” Belle replied grimly, desperately _not_ visualizing what might be happening to Rumplestiltskin.  _The bird said there had been lots of screaming._  

            “True Love doesn’t guarantee happiness, child.” 

            “No.  Only hard work and determination do that.”  Belle lifted her chin to look the grizzly old man in the eyes.  “I’m not leaving him there.” 

            Grimsby smiled.  “I see your friends are as stubborn as you are…Mary.” 

            “We all do what we can,” Mary replied, looking up at Grimsby with an adoring smile.  Had she not shone with so much sheer _honesty,_ Belle would have grown more worried with this additional evidence that “Mary” wasn’t the dark haired girl’s name at all, but even though she knew “Mary” and Red had both lied to her, she still wanted to trust them.  After all, it was not like _she_ was telling the whole truth, either.  

            “That we do.  And if you’ll accept the help of an old man, I’ll come with you.” 

            “What?” All three girls echoed. 

            “Your chances are better if I come with you.  Your father would have wanted me to look after you,” he said to Mary.  “And I can make sure you get out again, to do what you have to do.” 

            “Oh, Grimsby.”  Mary wrapped her arms around him.  “Thank you.” 

            Unable to help herself, Belle looked away, tears stinging her eyes.  Grimsby didn’t remind her of Rumplestiltskin at all—and Mary’s relationship with him clearly had nothing to do with True Love—but she still ached with worry for him.  Belle had never thought love would be like this:  worry and panic and tenderness all rolled in together.  But then again, she had never thought she might actually grow to love someone like Rumplestiltskin, either. 

            _“You’re angry.”_

_He stopped his furious pacing to look at Belle.  She’d been drawn to the great hall when she’d heard the crash of glass breaking, and was only a little surprised to see the doors of two of his display cases in pieces at Rumplestiltskin’s feet.  Belle knew he tended to break things when he flew into a temper—physically, usually, not with magic—but this was the first time she’d walked in on him right afterwards.  He blinked._

_“Not at you.”_

_She walked up to him brazenly to take both of his hands in hers.  Much to her surprise, Rumplestiltskin flinched away, ever so slightly.  Belle frowned.  “Tell me what’s troubling you?”_

_He looked like he didn’t want to answer, but relented when she squeezed his hands.  He spoke with more loathing than she had ever heard from Rumplestiltskin, his voice low and hard.  Usually, he didn’t find anyone significant enough to waste hatred on.  “Damn fairies.”_  

            _“Fairies?  Like Fairy Godmothers?”  She frowned in confusion.  “What do they have to do with anything?”_

_“Rumor says they found another magic bean.  One that would open a portal to…to the world Bae is in.”_

_He yanked away from her abruptly, turning to face the broken display on the right.  She watched his eyes shut tightly and his fists clench, and started to reach out to him again, only to hesitate._

_His son was the one topic Rumplestiltskin almost never touched.  He had finally told her the truth of how he lost Baelfire just two days earlier, full of self-loathing and fury enough that he wouldn’t talk to her for hours afterwards.  Belle knew that he hated himself for losing his son more than he did for any of the other things he had done in the intervening years, and she knew how little he wanted to be comforted.  He didn’t feel he_ deserved _comfort for having lost his son, no matter how much it tore him apart._

_“Rumple?” she said softly._

_He just shook his head.  Belle swallowed, waited a minute or two, and then finally came up behind him and just wrapped her arms around his midsection, resting her chin against the back of his left shoulder._

_“Tell me what happened?”_

_He shook, whether with emotion or fury she could not tell, but at least he did not pull away.  “The same as always.  I am ‘the Dark One.’ They will not help me.”_

_“But they’re fairies.”  Fairies were supposed to help_ anyone _in need._

_“Even fairies have an agenda, my dear,” Rumplestiltskin snarled.  “And I’m not in it.  They won’t even give me the ability to make a portal if I promise not to return to this world.”  The bitterness in his voice was entirely too human.  “They don’t believe I’d keep my end of the bargain.”_

_Belle frowned.  “You never break your deals.”_  

  _“Except the one.”_

_She squeezed him tightly, pressing a kiss into his shoulder.  “I believe in you,” Belle whispered.  “We’ll find a way.  We’ll find your son.”_

_He wouldn’t weep, she knew, much though Belle wished Rumplestiltskin would let the raging emotions out in such a healthy way.  But the infuriatingly self-hating man didn’t think he deserved that kind of release, so he’d rage and break things instead of showing his heartbreak.  But she stayed with him until he relaxed and was able to pretend everything was normal again, bouncing away from her with a haunted smile and a look that told her how grateful he was._

 

*****************

 

            The storm abated the previous night, and none of Regina’s attempts to provoke more power into streaming out of him worked.  When she got tired of using magic to torture him, the guards did their best to keep Rumplestiltskin in constant pain.  Eventually, however, even Regina’s guards got sick of dishing out beatings, and they left him alone whenever they thought he was growing boring.  Since boring meant not screaming so much or generally being limp and exhausted, Rumplestiltskin approached that state relatively quickly. 

            Every breath was still agony.  Even when he drifted back through the haze into something approaching coherency, everything _hurt._   Rumplestiltskin had never handled pain particularly well, save that of his leg that he’d once been so very used to.  After so many years of not worrying about the leg, however, he wasn’t sure how he’d ever coped with it at all.  And an old, almost forgotten part of him wondered how he’d manage to deal with it now, or the other rather grievous injuries visited upon him.  How could he be sure that he wouldn’t just go to pieces under the pressure of the pain?  Already he was perilously close to doing so.  The only strength he’d ever had possessed had come from magic—what was he without it? 

            _Stop being a fool_ , he told himself firmly, shifting slightly and trying to find a more comfortable position.  The movement made him moan in pain, made stars burst in front of his eyes, but he had to _focus_.  Closing his eyes, Rumplestiltskin let out a careful breath.  There was definitely magic in the shackles holding him to the wall; he’d noticed it early on, but the torture had kept him from thinking about it.  Normally, even those four separate containment spells—each shackle had a different magic on it—wouldn’t be enough to hold him, but with the curse broken…           

            _Maybe the darkness is the curse,_ Belle had said, _not the magic_.  He hadn’t believed her, but he _could_ still feel magic, could still identify the different containment spells Regina had woven around him.  And he’d been able to bottle up some of the power she’d thrown at him, too, to stick it up in a mental corner to use later when he was better able to concentrate.  What did that mean?  

            Had his first instinct been right?  He’d laughed at Regina to unnerve her, and because he had been able to control _her_ magic.  Was that the key?  Reaching for magic outside of that which he was accustomed, outside of the curse?  Was he to be like any other sorcerer now, despite the vast power he’d held at his fingertips for so many years?  The thought made him grimace.  It _should_ have been a relief to feel magic at all, but Rumplestiltskin was not made to be average.  He was a creature of extremes, always had been.  Strong or weak.  Reckless or terrified.  Nothing in between. 

            Opening his eyes, he stared contemplatively at the far wall, looking straight through both sets of bars as if they were not there.  He hardly even noticed when the guards showed up again, and by the time the first one raised a wooden staff to start beating him, Rumplestiltskin was starting to smile. 

            Again, the guards beat him into semi-consciousness, engaging in a contest to see who could get the ‘best’ reaction out of him.  The plump one with the crocked nose won, targeting his right leg and making Rumplestiltskin wheeze out weak screams of pain.  Something else in there broke on the fourth or fifth strike, and the resulting convulsion wrenched his leg so badly that it set off a round of screaming and coughing so hard that he couldn’t breathe.  Several agonizing minutes passed before he could manage to take even one shuddering breath, and the guards waited. 

            Of course. Regina didn’t want him dead.  Just helpless.  She was covering all of her bases.  The beating continued once he started breathing a little more regularly.  The tall one in the bunch got creative after that, picking up a torch and touching it to his bleeding right side. 

            Rumplestiltskin screeched.  The guard held the torch against his side long enough that it actually partially cauterized the infected wound.  Screaming and spasming, trying to jerk away from the flame, Rumplestiltskin was treated to the smell of his own flesh burning.  The torch drew away, only to wave close to his face next, and when he tried to pull his head away, he managed to smash the back of his skull into the wall again.  The cell swirled around him again; he felt like he was stuck in a tornado.  A blow to the newly burned side stopped the whirlwind, though, and the scream that tore out of his chest was high-pitched and horrible. 

            They finally left him slumped against the wall and struggling for air.  Long minutes passed before he could get his bearings again, and he almost didn’t manage.  Now that he _didn’t_ want to pass out, Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure he could keep himself from doing so.  He _needed_ to think this through, needed a chance to plan—but is mind kept tripping off the edge of coherency, and he couldn’t concentrate. 

            Before he slipped under, he heard Regina’s voice. 

            “I honestly wanted to help you, Rumple…but you always have to make things harder on yourself, don’t you?”

 

*****************

****

            That very evening, just an hour or so before sunset, Belle, Red, Mary, and Grimsby snuck into the castle.  All four were wearing the black uniforms of Queen Regina’s guard as they marched through the passageways towards the dungeon, looking as official as they could manage.  Belle was extremely grateful for how the impractical helmets obscured their faces and offered somewhere to hide their long hair, otherwise they wouldn’t have fooled anyone.  But they were _in_ the palace, and Grimsby was able to answer the one challenge they received.  He passed the three of them off as new trainees, and they made it by the guards at the entrance to the dungeon without incident. 

            As they headed down the stairs, Belle realized that the only dungeon she’d ever had much experience in was the dungeon in the Dark Castle, and it was surprisingly…nice, at least compared to this.  It had been better lit, cleaner—even before Rumplestiltskin had taken her on as a maid—and far less _frightening_ than Queen Regina’s.  There were numerous prisoners on the upper levels of the dungeon.  Quietly, Grimsby told the three women to ignore those prisoners; they weren’t important enough for Queen Regina to bother with.  Belle burned to free them all, but how could they do that and also rescue Rumplestiltskin? 

            “The old friend I talked to said that there’s only one prisoner on the lower level,” Grimsby said softly.  “If that’s not your man, lass, I don’t know where he’ll be.” 

            “Then what are we waiting for?” Belle replied immediately. 

            “It’s not a nice place down there, my girl.  Are you three sure you want to see this?” Grimsby stopped to look them each in the eye, one by one. 

            Belle bit her tongue, telling herself that she wasn’t the only one at risk here and that she had to let her friends make their own decisions.  She wouldn’t force them to take this risk with her, no matter how badly she burned to rush into the dungeon right _now_ and find Rumplestiltskin…but she had to be patient.  Had to be smart. 

            Red spoke up for the other two, smiling wolfishly.  “Why are we standing here talking?  We’ve got a breakout to do.” 

            Mary only shot the pair of them a grin, and then grabbed Belle’s arm, squeezing.  “We’ve come this far.  Let’s go find your True Love.” 

            “Thank you,” Belle breathed, her knees feeling weak. 

            “This way,” Grimsby said gruffly, leading them down a set of narrow, spiraled stairs to the lower level of the dungeon. 

            If Belle thought the upper level of the dungeons was intimidating, the lower levels were far worse. There wasn’t much light at all, save for a few flickering torches on the walls.  Cells lined each side of the narrow walkway, with heavy bars and chains everywhere.  The floor was stone, but stained ominously in several places, dark and dirty with what Belle assumed had to be blood.  Most of the doors were wide open, except one at the end. 

            Without a second thought, Belle rushed for the door, grabbing the bars and resisting the urge to shake the door in frustration.  She could barely see him in the darkness, but there was a figure crumbled against the back wall, deep in the shadows.  

            “Get the door open!” she whispered frantically as Grimsby approached.  “Hurry!” 

            The old man fumbled with the keys, suddenly nervous.  He kept almost dropping them, and then losing track of which one he had used last and trying the same key all over again.  Finally, Belle snatched them out of his shaking hand and found the correct key herself, her heart racing.  She shoved it in the lock and rushed in, ignoring the ominous feeling of darkness hovering around the cell.  Belle had eyes for nothing save Rumplestiltskin as she tore the infuriating helmet off.  She dropped it without noticing where it rolled off to; she had more important things to worry about. 

            He was chained against the back wall at his neck and both wrists, with thick metal cuffs that looked extremely tight.  His breathing was ragged and Belle wasn’t sure if he was conscious or not.  Rushing to his side, she had to dodge around his bound legs, noticing that his boots were gone…and his right leg was bloody from the knee down.  There was blood on his face, too, and his right side was burnt and bloody both.  He was pale as a ghost beneath numerous bruises, and Belle could see pain etched into his features. 

            “Rumple?” She touched the left side, the less bloody side, of his face gently.  He moaned weakly. 

            Part of her didn’t want to believe this was him.  This couldn’t be _Rumplestiltskin_ , who she had seen work enormous feats of magic with a snap of his fingers or disappear into thin air when the mood struck him.   This fragile, bleeding, and battered human couldn’t be the man she’d grown to love.  But it _was_ him.  She’d know his hair anywhere, and the angle of his cheekbones hadn’t changed at all. 

            “Rumple?” she whispered his name again. 

            His eyes flickered open.  “Belle.” 

            “Rumple!” Relief made her knees go weak, and the urge to cover his face in kisses was overwhelming.  But it was also a useless urge, so Belle went to work on unlocking the shackles instead.  She had to try three different keys before she found the correct one, but she got his right wrist free and then started working on his neck.  It required a different key, of course.  “We’re here to get you out,” she whispered. 

            “You shouldn’t be here,” Rumplestiltskin coughed painfully.  His entire body shook.  “Regina…will be expecting you.  She’ll…” 

            “Hush.”  It took two attempts to free his neck, and he slumped immediately, slipping further down the wall.  Rumplestiltskin’s eyes slid shut as he shuddered in pain. 

            Mary’s frantic whisper from outside interrupted her attempt to free his other wrist. “Belle, we have to hurry!” 

            “I know!”  She touched Rumplestiltskin’s shoulder, shaking him gently.  He moaned in pain again, and she felt horrible for doing it.  “Don’t pass out on me.  We’ve got to get moving.” 

            “Someone’s coming,” Grimsby warned. 

            “Belle.”  Rumplestiltskin’s eyes flickered open briefly, and then slid shut again.  “Go.” 

            “Not without you.” 

            A slight wind whipped at the uniform she was wearing, and a cold chill ripped down Belle’s spine.   The air suddenly felt thick and foreboding in the cell, making it hard to breathe.  Something magical was happening, but Rumplestiltskin’s eyes were still shut, his breathing shallow and pained.  Was he passing out again? 

            “Belle!” Red cried, just as Grimsby shouted: 

            “ _Look out!”_  

            A greater gust of wind tore through the dungeons, and suddenly everything happened at once.  Red cried out, Mary tried to shout another warning, and Grimsby gurgled in sudden pain.  Both of the other girls screamed, sounding more surprised than anything else, but Belle heard the old guard captain’s body hit the ground just as a cell door slammed shut somewhere to her right. 

            “I expected better of you, Grimsby,” a familiar voice said imperiously.  “Forsaking honorable retirement to help a traitor?  Tsk, tsk.” 

            “Better than allowing you to rule,” the old man replied hoarsely.  “I’ll always—” 

            A horrible, choking sound cut his words off. 

            _Oh, no._   Belle’s stomach dropped sickly.  Rumplestiltskin seemed to be unconscious again, and Queen Regina was outside the cell.  Woodenly, Belle rose.  She hated to leave him, but she’d led her friends into a trap; the least she could do was face the consequences with them.  

            By the time she reached the still open cell door, the Evil Queen was stepping over Grimsby’s twitching body as the old man choked to death.  Mary and Red were locked in a cell to the left, and Queen Regina’s eyes burned into Belle the moment she appeared. 

            “Leave them alone,” Belle said as forcefully as she could manage.  “I think I’m the one you want.” 

            “My dear Belle,” Queen Regina purred, turning to her with a smile.  “What a surprise.” 

            “Don’t be ridiculous.  You knew I’d come.” 

            She wasn’t sure where this reckless courage came from, but Belle was sick of backing down.  She was done _allowing_ things to happen.  She was going to fight for what she believed in, no matter what, and if that meant facing down an Evil Queen, that’s what she was going to do.  Her blunt defiance was making Regina’s cheek twitch ominously, and the beautiful dark eyes were focused on her dangerously.  She obviously wasn’t used to being challenged quiet so openly, and if Belle accomplished nothing else today, at least that was a small victory. 

            “Of course I did.”  The anger vanished behind smugness.  Grimsby had been forgotten, but he wasn’t breathing.  Belle’s heart broke for the brave old man, but she couldn’t help him.  “And perhaps now I’ll get some of the answers I was looking for.” 

            “I don’t _have_ any answers for you,” Belle replied.  “Neither of us do. He’s no danger to you now.   Please…just let him go.” 

            The Queen laughed lightly, her beautiful dress swirling around her.  She looked so out of place in this dungeon, but there wasn’t a speck of dirt on her.  “With all the knowledge knocking around in his skull?  Don’t be ridiculous, girl.  Of course he’s of use to me.  He’s simply a little bit…stubborn.” 

            Stubborn didn’t begin to describe Rumplestiltskin, and fear shot through Belle.  In her rush to rescue him, she’d never stopped to think of _why_ the Queen might want Rumplestiltskin.  She knew there was a lot of history between the two, and something of a competition concerning power—but Belle had not imagined that the Evil Queen might want something more than victory.  What kind of knowledge was she looking for that Rumplestiltskin refused to share? 

            Probably anything, knowing him. 

            “What do you _want?_ ” she asked, curious and worried both.  Belle was terrified about what would happen once the Queen decided to stop talking.  She knew enough about magic to know that she didn’t stand a chance against Queen Regina once she started throwing spells around, so if Belle was going to find a way out of this situation, she had to buy time.  Mary was quietly working on the lock to the cell she and Red were locked in, and if Belle could only get to Grimsby’s sword… 

            “Not a thing that he won’t be willing to tell me with you here.” 

            Belle’s heart sank.  “You knew I’d come,” she whispered, her throat suddenly thick.  That heavy feeling of darkness was only growing worse. 

            “Of course I did.”  Regina smiled wickedly.  “True Love never fails to deliver.” 

            “You set this up.  _Months_ ago.  _This_ is what you wanted.”  Her heart was breaking, shattering into little pieces on the floor.  

            “What, did you think I offered advice out of the goodness of my heart?” the other woman countered incredulously.  “You really _are_ quite innocent, aren’t you?  You should have listened to dear Rumple.  _He_ knew.” 

            Belle never had a chance to find a response.  Regina raised a hand, and suddenly unseen power ripped Belle out of the doorway and threw her against the outer bars of Rumplestiltskin’s cell.  The impact knocked the wind out of her and made the bars rattle.  Belle cried out sharply, seeing stars, and discovered that her feet wouldn’t touch the floor.  She hung there, held up by magic, as Regina slowly turned to face her. 

            “I _will_ have the answers I seek, even if I have to tear you apart piece by piece while he watches,” the Queen threatened darkly. 

            “I wouldn’t be too sure about that, _dearie_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun! Sorry to leave everyone on another cliffhanger – let me know what you think of this one, and it’ll probably encourage me to post the next chapter faster!
> 
> In the meantime, what trick do you think Rumplestiltskin has pulled out this time?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rumplestiltskin makes two deals he may come to regret.

 

            “I wouldn’t be too sure about that, _dearie_.” 

            The magic didn’t keep Belle from moving her head, so she was able to turn and stare as incredulously as Queen Regina did.  

            “Surprised to see me, Regina?” 

            Rumplestiltskin stood in the doorway, looking like…himself.  From his golden-hued skin to his high leather boots, he looked almost exactly as he had the day Belle met him—but without the playful smile.  He stepped forward slowly, dangerously, radiating the same kind of power that he had the day that he’d saved Belle’s life from the clerics.  Looking ready to do murder with his bare hands.  Just watching at him was enough to make Belle shiver, but now those furious amber eyes were focused on Queen Regina. 

            “You can’t—” 

            His hand shot up, and now Regina went flying.  Magic picked her up, spun her around viciously, and then slammed the Queen against the opposite wall.  She cried out, and her hold on Belle broke as she hit, making the floor come up very fast.  Belle wound up on her knees before she could catch herself, watching as Regina struggled to get herself out of the same hovering position that Belle had been in only moments earlier.  Her carefully coifed hair had been knocked askew, and her beautiful black and red dress was tangled around her legs like a noose.  The satisfied expression on her face had vanished, replaced by wide-eyed shock. 

            “Can’t what?” Rumplestiltskin snarled, striding towards the Queen.  “Use magic?  Be standing here?  I’m sorry to disappoint you, but here I am.” 

            Blinking, Belle took a second look at him. Rumplestiltskin _looked_ fine, but the set of his shoulders was slightly off, even considering the fury emulating from him.  There was a tension in Rumplestiltskin that she had never seen before, and suddenly Belle _knew._   This had to be a glamour.  She’d never known him to use one before, but there was no other explanation.  

            “Release me!” Regina demanded. 

            Rumplestiltskin threw back his head and laughed.  “You’re done giving orders, _Your Majesty._   In fact, you’re done with, well, _everything._ ” 

            “You can’t kill me!” she snarled. 

            “Can’t.”  He waved a hand airily as Belle picked herself up, and then his voice took on the sing-song quality it always did when he was mocking someone.  “You keep using that word.  I do not think it means what you think it means.” 

            “Rumplestiltskin—” 

            “No.” 

            Belle could see Regina’s air supply cut off, watched the Queen’s hands flash up as she tried to throw magic at Rumplestiltskin, but he brushed it away with a contemptuous wave of one hand.  He sneered. 

            “I’m not bothered by your imprisoning me, dearie.  That’s part of the game.  But when you start threatening Belle, now that’s another matter entirely.”  His voice grew dangerously soft with the last sentence.  “So we are ending this.  Now.” 

            Regina’s hands went to her throat, gurgling desperately.  Struggling for air, she abandoned all attempts at attacking Rumplestiltskin, who strode up to her and, without any preamble, tore her heart out of her chest.  Then he let her breathe again, standing over her while she collapsed, gasping for air.  She looked more shocked than terrified, utterly unable to comprehend that Rumplestiltskin truly meant to kill her.  Blinking, Belle took several wooden steps forward, not really sorry to see the Queen die but wondering what it might cost Rumplestiltskin. 

            The curse was broken, wasn’t it?  Would it matter if Rumplestiltskin continued using magic in the same dark ways?  Could that hurt him? 

            “Any last words, Regina?” 

            “You…” 

            “Rumplestiltskin,” Belle interjected quietly, stepping forward and putting a hand on his right arm.  Once she touched him, she knew that her earlier suspicion was correct; that was wrinkled silk under her fingers, stiff with grime and blood, not the dragonskin coat he appeared to be wearing.  Beneath the silk, his arm was shaking. 

            She squeezed his arm as gently as she could, and he turned to look at her.  Only then did she notice that the color of his eyes was slightly off, more brown than amber, and his pupils were decidedly more human than they should have been.  And behind the fury, they were full of pain. 

            “Let’s go,” she whispered.  “She’s not worth it.  Please.” 

            For a long moment, she thought Rumplestiltskin would refuse her, that he would crush Regina’s heart and perhaps doom himself in doing so.  The look on his face never changed; he never even blinked as he studied Belle, and his eyes did not soften the way she was used to them doing when he looked at her.  Then his eyes slid back to Regina. 

            “Do you want to live?” he asked the Queen as she struggled into a sitting position, her eyes fastened on her heart, still in his hand. 

            Regina scowled.  “Obviously.” 

            “Then I’ll make a deal with you.  A very simple one.  And if you break it, I will make sure that you suffer a fate worse than any you have never dreamed of.  Understood?” 

            “Get on with— _owh!”_  

            Rumplestiltskin had squeezed her heart, forcing her to cut off in a cry of pain.  His eyes narrowed.  “I want your silence.  In exchange for your life.  You won’t speak—or write, or share in _any_ way—anything you know about the Dark One’s curse.  Likewise for any information concerning Belle.  You’ll keep everything from the last, oh, two weeks to yourself.  Agreed?” 

            Dark eyes narrowed ominously, and the Queen hesitated.  Finally, she spat: 

            “Fine.” 

            “Done.”  The normal laugh that would accompany the word never materialized, and Rumplestiltskin threw Regina’s heart at her feet.  “Put it in yourself.  I’m told it stings a bit.” 

            “You bastard,” the Queen wheezed, but she grabbed her heart immediately, obviously afraid that he’d take it away.  Rumplestiltskin ignored her as if she was beneath his notice. 

            “Shall we?” he asked.  Belle let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding when he turned to her, his expression slightly less murderous and a little more normal.  

            “My friends…?” Belle trailed off, nodding in the direction of the cell where Mary and Red were still locked in.  Grimsby was dead, but she wouldn’t leave the other two here.

             Whatever expression he had been about to wear slid behind an expressionless mask as Rumplestiltskin followed her gaze.  “Of course,” he replied neutrally. 

            Magic _pulled_ , and they were gone.

           

*****************

 

            Belle, Mary, Red, and Rumplestiltskin appeared in a small clearing in the woods, not far from where Belle had met the other two in the first place.  Both other girls stumbled, making Belle wince in sympathy.  She remembered how sick she’d felt the first few times Rumplestiltskin had transported her with magic, a sensation Mary and Red were clearly experiencing now.  Mary had wound up on her knees, retching up lunch, while Red knelt next to her worriedly, patting her on the back and holding her hair out of the way.  Belle had handled the transition better with her greater experience, but Rumplestiltskin actually swayed slightly. 

            “Are you all right?” she asked worriedly. 

            “Perfectly fine,” he snapped, but Belle could see the lie he wasn’t bothering to hide.   Rumplestiltskin wasn’t really angry at her, she knew—he was putting on a show for Mary and Red. 

            So she smiled at him.  “It’s good to see you.” 

            Rumplestiltskin started to smile back, but then Red’s angry voice interrupted. 

            “Belle, what’s going on?” 

            Mary struggled to her feet, adding: “What kind of trap is this?” 

            “It’s not a trap,” Belle replied hurriedly, getting in before Rumplestiltskin could say something.  “None of this has been a trap.  I—” 

            “That’s Rumplestiltskin!” Red interjected wildly, but Belle’s love only blinked. 

            “Of course I am, dearie.  Did you expect someone else?” 

            Belle grimaced.  “I may have, um, not told them who you were.  When I enlisted them to help me rescue you, that is.” 

            “Ah.”  The chuckle that came out was genuine, at least, although Belle heard an edge of pain behind it.  “Well, that _does_ make things more interesting.” 

            “You said we were going after your True Love!” Mary snarled, and Belle flinched upon seeing the betrayed look on her face.  

            “I didn’t—”  A hand on her arm cut her off. 

            “Don’t bother, my dear.  They’ll never believe the truth,” Rumplestiltskin cut her off gently, shaking his head slightly.  Judging from the expressions on the other girls’ faces, he wasn’t far off, but he swung to face Mary and Red before Belle could respond.  “ _However,_ I have to admit that I didn’t expect such an _interesting_ rescue party.  A wolf-girl and Regina’s favorite stepdaughter?  I feel so honored.” 

            “How do you…?” Mary started to ask, stumbling backwards.  Immediately, Red stepped between them and Mary. 

            “Oh, come now, Princess Snow.  I’m _Rumplestiltskin._ Do you expect me not to notice?” Hearing his familiar laugh almost reassured Belle, but there was still something slightly _off_ in him that worried her desperately.  That heavy feeling of evil was back, like something was weighing down every movement Belle made.  Even the blue sky above their heads was starting to darken slightly.  She could see dark clouds through the trees. 

            “What are you going to do to us?” Mary—no, _Snow—_ demanded nervously. 

            “Not a thing.  Not _to_ you, anyway.  Though I do believe thanks are in order.” 

            Snow and Red both gaped.  “…What?” 

            “It’s no small thing to have Rumplestiltskin in your debt,” he said, bowing to the pair.  “Ladies.  You have but to call my name, and my assistance is yours.”  Straightening, he quirked a smile, warned them with the shake of one finger. “Free of charge.  But only once, so use it carefully.” 

            Belle could have hugged him for that, and she smiled so hard that it hurt her face.  Both of her friends, however, simply looked shocked. 

            “Um.  Thank you.  I think,” Snow said slowly, looking at Belle. 

            “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth,” Belle said softly.  “I…I just…” She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say, but a touch to her arm cut her off. 

            “It’s time to go, Belle.”  She might have argued, but Belle could feel the slight tremble in his hand where it touched her, and realized that he was fading fast. 

            She nodded.  “Thank you both.  Red… _Snow._   I can’t begin to say how grateful I am.” 

            “Will you be all right?” Snow asked quietly, looking like she wanted to take a step towards Belle, but stopping when she noticed that Rumplestiltskin’s hand was still on Belle’s arm. 

            “Yes.”  She smiled.  “Thank you again.” 

            The hand tightened on her arm, and then the _pull_ came again, and they vanished.

 

*****************

 

            Belle didn’t expect to show up in her old rooms at her father’s house, but no sooner had they appeared than Rumplestiltskin nearly collapsed in her arms. 

            Her surprise could wait.  Catching him by the shoulders as the glamour drained off, she helped him stumble over to her bed.  _This again?_  Why had Rumplestiltskin picked here, of all places?  Surely her father had proven what a monumentally bad idea _that_ could be when he’d allowed Queen Regina to take Rumplestiltskin away.  And if he turned as helpless as he had been last time, what would keep the same thing from happening all over again?  Belle wasn’t fool enough to think she could talk her father out of it if Rumplestiltskin was unconscious, and the deal he’d forced Regina to make had made no mention of the Evil Queen not trying to capture him again. 

            He’d even implied that he didn’t take it personally.  _Part of the game,_ Rumplestiltskin had said.  Belle scowled.  There were times she really did think him an utter fool. 

            But he coughed raggedly, and her musings died as she looked down at him.  Rumplestiltskin seemed almost as battered and bruised as he had in that cell, and just as human.  His breathing was uneven and his body shaking; in fact, _all_ of the earlier injuries seemed to be back.  Trying not to shake, Belle lowered him to the bed, this time not allowing him to object when she settled his head into her lap.  “What can I do?” 

            “Give me a moment,” he choked out, but at least Rumplestiltskin sounded more coherent than he had in the cell.  Belle burned to ask him how he’d gone from barely breathing and passing out to oh so very magical, but she was wise enough know that this was not the time. 

            Her room was darker than usual, colder, even though it was still light outside.  But Belle could still see Rumplestiltskin’s face well enough, could see the bruises highlighting angular cheekbones and the pain etched into tight features.  His eyes were shut again, but the raggedness of his breathing seemed to be evening out.  She longed to take his hands, but knew he needed them—or preferred them, at any rate—to work magic, so Belle settled for brushing hair off of his face gently and wondering where she could put her own hands that would not cause him more pain.  Rumplestiltskin’s fingers twitched slightly, but even as Belle watched him worriedly, his hands did not move.  Holding her breath, she continued to stroke his forehead lightly.  The sudden tingle under her hand startled her, however; her touch to his forehead had been so light, but then there was _magic._

             It swept over him like a soft blue wave, turning black then yellow and then blue again.  Rumplestiltskin seemed to tremble slightly, but then the magic was gone and his eyes blinked open. 

            “Hey,” he whispered. 

            “Hey yourself.”  Belle tried not to let a giddy giggle escape, but she was so very relieved.  She reached for his hands, and he met her halfway, squeezing her fingers tiredly.  The weakness in his grip made her frown.  “Are you all right, or is this some other…glamour or something?” 

            “I’m all right.”  Upon her skeptical look, Rumplestiltskin managed a wan smile.  “Truly.  This”—he gestured feebly at his face—“is no glamour.  Just me.  As I was…before the curse.” 

            There it was again, his old conviction that no one could love him as he was.  Seeing his uncertainty made a fist close tightly around Belle’s heart, and she bent to kiss his forehead.  “I don’t care what your face looks like, you silly man.  I meant your injuries.” 

            “Healed.”  At least he had the grace to look a little embarrassed, but Belle knew that Rumplestiltskin was nothing if not a work in progress.  “Just…very tired.  Magic always…” 

            “Comes at a price, I know,” she finished for him, kissing his cheek before straightening.  His skin was still clammy, but not nearly as sweaty and feverish as before.  “But you have magic.  Even with the curse broken?” 

            “Yes.”  Now his smile was genuine, at least, even serene.  “That I do.” 

            “How?  I’m not objecting, mind, but…you were so worried about it.” 

             Shrugging seemed to take most of his available energy.  “Three hundred years of study –actual _study,_ not the quick and easy road to power most take—leaves you with a significant ability to manipulate magic.  But as for raw power, well…I may have made a deal with my curse.” 

            “You _what?”_   Belle yelped, almost knocking his head from her lap in surprise.  “How could you make a deal with…with…” Well, she didn’t know exactly what.  “ _That?_ ” 

            Rumplestiltskin grimaced, pulling himself laboriously into a sitting position so he could look Belle in the eye.  Moving so much made him look ready to collapse, but he shook his head when she reached out to help him.  “I needed power, Belle.  And after…however long of _that,_ I didn’t have it in me.  Even when I realized I could still use magic, I was too weak.”  His expression turned fierce, and Belle saw the same intensity that had so frightened Queen Regina. 

            “And there was _no way_ this side of Hell that I was going to let her hurt you,” Rumplestiltskin finished, his voice low and hard. 

            Love was sacrifice, wasn’t it?  Sucking in a deep breath, Belle nodded slowly.  She took his hands again, and watched some of the tension ease out of his shoulders.  

            “What did you do?” she asked quietly. 

            “I wanted to save you.  The curse wants to _survive_.  The curse of the Dark One is an old curse, probably the oldest in creation.  And when two parties both want something from the other, a deal can be struck.  So I did.”  Rumplestiltskin let out a breath, and Belle felt his hands shake.  “I have access to the power, but _my_ terms.  The darkness that has for so long been woven into my soul can no longer control me.  That much I can promise you.” 

            She could tell that he believed every word, but Belle was still worried.  “What does the curse get in exchange?” 

            “Continued existence.  And the opportunity to sink its claws into me again, should I allow it.” 

            “Rumple…” 

            “I don’t intend to.”  He smiled again, tightly.  “Being free of the curse….Belle, it’s incredible.  For three centuries, I have been a prisoner of my own power, subject to desires and bloodlust that I couldn’t always control.  It was like having another presence in my mind, one darker than I could ever be, egging me on and driving me _further_.  Whispering with rage I could never slake, no matter how many I destroyed.  I never thought I’d be free of that.”  Rumplestiltskin reached up to touch her cheek with a shaking hand.  “Until you.” 

            Her heart felt ready to burst from happiness.  “I’m glad I could help.” 

            “You do more than help.”  He hesitated slightly, but Belle could hear the painful honesty in his words.  The love she had always known was buried inside him outshone even the exhaustion in his eyes.  “So much more.” 

            “I love you.  Even when you’re an idiot.”  Reaching up, Belle captured the fingers on her cheek in her own hand, and she smiled to soften the insult into an endearment. 

            Rumplestiltskin chuckled, and although his laugh sounded a little pained, he only shook slightly.  “I so often am,” he whispered. 

            “Yes, well, what other fool would think he could make a deal with his own curse?” Belle tried to keep her voice light, but the question did bother her. 

            “A desperate soul,” he answered softly.  “Desperate to save you.”  He shushed her when she tried to object, continuing:  “It’s a risk I have to take.  I’ll have to be…careful how I use the power, careful not to let it in too deep lest the curse take full hold again.  If it does…” 

            “Can I help with that?” 

            “Yes.”  Rumplestiltskin smiled tentatively.  “If you’ll have me.” 

            She was reminded of a bashful smile, a red rose, and a spark that had blossomed back in the beginning, before either of them really realized what they were in for.  “I promised forever, you know,” she reminded him.  “Now lie down before you fall over.” 

            “Belle…” 

            But Rumplestiltskin allowed himself to be pulled back down, and Belle settled his head into her lap once more.  He relaxed with a shudder. 

            “So,” she started quietly.  “Not that I’m complaining, but why here?  Why did you bring me back to Avonlea instead of home?” 

            There was no use pretending that _home_ was anywhere other than the Dark Castle, and Belle saw the slight smile cross his face before he replied: “I was… It’s too far.  And this seemed more comfortable than somewhere the woods.” 

            She might have objected, but he was already drifting off to sleep. 

 

*****************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, no cliffhanger this time. I can even promise that there isn’t one on the next chapter, either, though I can’t say that Sir Maurice won’t be getting a bit of comeuppance next time around. 
> 
> In the meantime, what price do you think the deal Rumplestiltskin made with his curse will wind up costing? Will the curse get back inside him, or will something else happen?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Belle and Rumple exact their revenge upon Maurice for working with Regina.

            By the time morning arrived, Belle was monstrously stiff from sleeping sitting up with Rumplestiltskin’s head in her lap. She probably _should_ have lain down next to him, but she’d been terribly afraid of disturbing him. His sleep was fitful enough as it was, although he never _quite_ woke up, Belle knew that he needed all the rest he could get. So she leaned back against the headboard and dozed, often waking up in a panic and sure he was gone again. Every time she woke, long minutes passed before she could calm her racing heart and fall asleep once more, trying not to worry about what they would do come morning. 

            She finally drifted into a deeper sleep an hour or so before dawn, only to jerk awake and find that he actually _was_ gone and now Belle was lying on her bed with a warm blanket draped over her. She managed to choke off her startled cry just in time, however. Rumplestiltskin was standing over by the window, silhouetted by the early morning sun.

            Belle sat up so fast that it made her dizzy. “Rumple? Are you all right?”           

            “Better than I expected, to be honest.” He turned towards her with a smile, and Belle was again struck by how _different_ he looked. The cloying feeling of darkness was gone—had she imagined it?—and his expression was so much less…rigid. Yet there were countless similarities as well. The same calculating glint still danced in his eyes, for all they were a slightly different color. He still looked older than years could count, though now he was more human than ageless. But his face still crinkled when he smiled at her, and even if the skin was different, the man underneath it was the same. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

            “It was your absence that startled me,” she pointed out, swinging her legs off the bed and walking over to wrap her arms around his waist. 

            “Then please accept my apologies.” His voice was low, but Belle thought she heard a bit of a chuckle behind the polite words as he returned her embrace, pulling her close. 

            “This time,” she answered cheekily, nestling her head into his shoulder. “Perhaps.” 

            Belle felt his low laugh vibrate in his chest and closed her eyes, reveling in the fact that he was _there_ , and he was okay, and that even if things were bound to get even more interesting from here, at least they could be together. She didn’t want to think about how his curse breaking would change things, or how many enemies would try to hurt him—or use _her_ to hurt him, because Belle was not naive enough to think no one would try that, not after what Queen Regina had threatened. For now, she just wanted to be _happy._  

            “I do love you,” Rumplestiltskin whispered. “I should have said that yesterday. And I should have thanked you for saving my life.” 

            “You would have done the same.” 

            “My brave Belle,” he breathed, and she felt his lips touch the top of her head. 

            They stood together for several long minutes in silence, just holding onto one another. Had his arms not been so tight around her, Belle might have wondered if she was dreaming, because was this not so very different from how they had danced around the topic of True Love just a month earlier? Rumplestiltskin had refused to say the words until after they’d broken his curse with a kiss, but now he’d said them again. And Belle would never grow tired of hearing them. 

            “Now,” he finally continued. “I believe a good fright is in order for your father, lest word of this little curse breaking travel any further. Agreed?” 

            She blinked, pulling back to look at him. “You don’t want people to know?” 

            “Would I have worn that face threatening Regina if I did?” he countered, leaning in to kiss her forehead once more before moving away to sit on a nearby couch, steepling his fingers in his familiar thoughtful way. “Or for your friends?” 

            “I guess I didn’t think of it that way,” Belle replied slowly, frowning. 

            “My dear, the moment the world knows my curse is broken, every would-be hero or fool who thinks they were wronged by one of my deals will be _beating_ down the doors of the Dark Castle to seek justice or revenge. Or power.” He sneered. “Much good it would do them, but I prefer not to have my time wasted in such a fashion.” 

            For all her many strengths, Belle had never thought beyond breaking his curse, beyond the fact that their kiss meant she knew that _he_ wanted to be with her as much as she did him. She had never considered what must come _next_ , what would happen if the world knew Rumplestiltskin as she did. What was he now, if not the Dark One? He was fully human again, not the monster he’d always told her he was instead of a man. But other than that, what _was_ he? Was he merely a powerful sorcerer with access to his old power, no longer in the grip of that horrible darkness? Or would he choose to be something else? 

            “I guess I just thought that ‘happily ever after’ came next,” she admitted softly, feeling a little lost. Her expression must have become rather woebegone, because he held his hands out to her invitingly. She took them and he tugged, pulling her down next to him as she squeaked in surprise. 

            “Not that I’m an expert on the subject, dear, but I’ve always been of the belief that _happily ever after_ is a bit of a misnomer. A clever way to end a children’s tale, nothing more. Life is infinitely more complicated than that.” 

            “Layered?” she asked, remembering a conversation oh so long ago. 

            “Layered,” he smiled. 

            Belle hesitated, but feeling out of her depth did not make her less brave. “What place do I get in this complicated life?” she asked bluntly.

            “What place do you want?” It was his turn to become hesitant, and Belle felt a familiar mixture of frustration and affection rise. Apparently, admitting he loved her had not repaired Rumplestiltskin’s fragile self-esteem, even with after the most tangible evidence of their True Love sitting there. In his body. “If you want to stay here…” 

            “Stop it. I want to be with you. We went through this last night.” 

            Sighing, he looked away from her, looking down to study his very human hands, still wrapped in Belle’s. She squeezed his fingers, seeing his fears and wishing she could just banish them with a few words. But Rumplestiltskin had never been easy to love, not so much because of his sharp edges, but because he hated himself.

            When he’d shaken her so roughly, so furiously, the one thing that had kept her from hating him was the sheer _pain_ in his voice when he’d shouted that no one could ever love him. Belle had known he was lonely before that, had seen the man hidden inside the monster who clearly longed for something more than the life of dark solitude he had claimed for himself, but the afternoon she had kissed him told her so much more. It was why she had stayed, even when he’d tried to throw her out. _He_ had been more terrified than she had been, and he still was. She didn’t think he was coward—even though he’d called himself that before, derisively and with his voice full of old pain—but Belle knew he was afraid. How soft his voice was only told her how strong that fear was.

            “My curse may be broken, Belle, but I… I have still done terrible things. I am still not some prince-turned-frog with a simple curse that True Love can overthrow. There are scars on my soul that will never heal.” 

            “Is that supposed to frighten me away?” 

            He snorted. “It should.” 

            “Too bad.” Smiling, she watched his head come up, watched a bit of hope fill his sad eyes. “I love you. And I promised forever.” 

            “Belle…” 

            She kissed him to shut him up, so she didn’t have to listen to him going on about how he’d let her out of that deal some time ago. Belle wasn’t staying because of a deal. A _deal_ didn’t make her think of the Dark Castle as home, and it sure as anything hadn’t made him into her True Love. She didn’t care if this wasn’t going to be easy, and if he’d suddenly turned out to be a different man, she might have been a bit disappointed. Truth be told, she rather enjoyed his dangerous edges, provided they didn’t drive him into doing truly horrible things.

             “Now,” she continued once they’d come up for air. “What was this you were saying about terrifying my poor father?”

 

*****************

 

            Sir Maurice was sitting with his advisory council in the castle’s great hall when the giant wooden doors burst open. Seated in the same chair from which he had entertained Queen Regina, he froze, his eyes huge and his round face screaming that he could not comprehend the sight before him. 

            Rumplestiltskin strolled in with Belle on his arm. He wasn’t so tired that he couldn’t still work significant magic—he’d be _dead_ the day that happened, thank you very much—and he’d made sure they both looked the part. He was back in dragonskin and leather, while Belle looked simply glorious in a rose and white colored dress that any princess would have been proud to wear. Belle had brought the dress from the Dark Castle when she had come to visit, and he had improved it slightly for better effect, giving it a slight dusting of gold. She was utterly beautiful, in Rumplestiltskin’s completely unbiased opinion, glittering in the morning sunlight and looking far more regal than her startled parent. 

            “No need to get up, Sir Maurice,” he sang airily, waving a hand that _also_ sparkled slightly. He was in his old skin for this one, the look he half hated and half missed. It was a better mask for his emotions than his human face had ever been, however, and certainly was what Belle’s father expected to see. 

            It was also far more _frightening_ than his human face could ever be, and curse broken or no, Rumplestiltskin was not a man above using others’ fears to his advantage. 

            Maurice’s advisors were already backing away while he and Belle approached, but when Rumplestiltskin flashed them all a vicious smile, four of the five scrambled back further. Two of them even tripped over their own feet while they did so, and a third bounced off a chair hard enough to leave a bruise. None of them wanted to be anywhere near him, even if protocol demanded they not run away unless Maurice dismissed them. Gaston was the only one who held his ground—brave, stupid lad that he was—but even he looked terribly worried. 

            “The rest of you, however, are welcome to leave.” He let an edge enter his voice and watched even Gaston back up this time. Was it wrong of him to still enjoy their fear a little? The dark whispers and urges ever present in the back of his mind were gone, though, which meant he wasn’t contemplating murder simply because they’d annoyed him. 

            Not that he was sure he was above turning the fools into something he could crush under one heel, but Rumplestiltskin was fairly certain doing such things to her father’s old friends might upset Belle.

            Four of five rushed out, protocol be damned. Again, only Gaston hesitated. “My Lord?” 

            “Go, Gaston. There is…nothing you can do here.” Maurice had gone from frozen to pale and sweaty, and he had to swallow several times before the words came out. _Good._  

            “That’s excellent advice, dearie. I suggest you follow it,” Rumplestiltskin laughed softly, pulling the chair on Maurice’s right out for Belle. She seated herself gracefully as Gaston fled. 

            “Thank you.” Belle smiled up at him, and he allowed his lips to twitch slightly in response. She deserved so much better than him, and yet he _loved_ this woman more than words could express. 

            “You are most welcome, my dear,” he replied quietly, bending over to gentle plant a kiss on her hand. Might as well play with Maurice a little—and Gaston, judging from the squeak of protest from the doorway. 

            Waving a hand solved the problem of having an audience; the doors slammed shut once more. He didn’t bother to bar them; only a fool would interrupt this conversation. Using magic like that sent a slight shiver through him, a cramp across his shoulders that was new. Was that caused by the curse breaking, or had the last ten days just exhausted him that much? He already knew that one night’s sleep hadn’t been enough. His limbs still wanted to shake at inopportune moments, and Rumplestiltskin felt physically weaker than ever he had in his life. He could compensate for that with magic—and was—but the aches remained and his leg was throbbing for all that it was willing to work correctly. 

            He’d managed to temporarily banish the visible evidence of his broken curse in the wee hours of the morning, after he’d slid Belle into the bed because he was no longer able to sleep. It was just waiting to come out again, he knew, and something would _have_ to be done so he didn’t walk around under a dark, ominous cloud for the rest of his life, but exactly how he’d deal with that, Rumplestiltskin wasn’t quite sure. Still, it was a worry for later. The present was far more pressing, because Maurice was all but shaking as Rumplestiltskin lowered himself into the chair on Belle’s right, leaning back casually. 

            She’d made him promise not to terrorize her father _too_ thoroughly, but at least Belle was still angry enough that she didn’t press very hard. He smiled at Sir Maurice. 

            “Weren’t expecting to see me again?” 

            “I—um—well, uh…” 

            Rumplestiltskin let him stutter for a moment, watched Maurice try to find words to defend his decision. Unfortunately, the struggle wasn’t as amusing to watch as he’d hoped, and watching Belle’s father gulp helplessly became boring after about a minute. Finally, he waved a hand. “ _Enough_. Luckily for you, Belle told you the truth. She _did_ break my curse, and I am therefore less inclined to kill you than I might have been. Despite recent…occurrences.” 

            Left to his own devices, Rumplestiltskin _was_ inclined to keep Sir Maurice in the dark concerning his situation, but Belle had drawn the line at lying to her father. A little fear might be good for Sir Maurice, they agreed, but Belle did not want him afraid _for_ her, particularly given the rest of their plans. 

            “I—she _what?_ ” Maurice finally managed to speak coherently. 

            “Your daughter is a remarkable woman,” he answered, flicking the fingers of his right hand towards himself. Usually, he didn’t need gestures to control a simple spell like a glamour, but he was still so damn tired. Still, the gold scaly skin drained off obediently enough, leaving him looking very human, albeit dressed in his typical manner. 

            “You’re not the Dark One anymore?” Apparently Belle did get her courage from somewhere now that her father had found his voice. Or at least her intelligence. It was nice to know that Maurice wasn’t an absolute fool. That might be important later. 

            His lips quirked into an ironic smile. “Not _precisely_.” 

            Sir Maurice could only stare, and he let the other man do so for a long moment. Belle’s father looked gratifyingly rattled, glancing nervously between the pair of them like he was waiting for Rumplestiltskin to announce it was all one grand joke—or perhaps to turn him into something small and smash-able. Belle, probably feeling sorry for him, gave her father a gentle smile, and then promptly complicated matters by placing her right hand on top of Rumplestiltskin’s left.

            “I remain, however, a sorcerer with no small means of power at my disposal,” he continued coolly, “and not exactly _pleased_ with the fact that you saw fit to hand me over to Regina.” 

            “Please don’t blame Belle for that! The fault was all mine—she tried to talk me out of it, but I was a fool, and—” 

            “Oh, stop babbling,” Rumplestiltskin cut Maurice off with a scowl. The damn man was proving to be no fun at all. Of course, he _could_ have played up Maurice’s fears, but even joking about hurting Belle was out of the question. Even consideringit was unthinkable.   “You don’t understand _any_ of this, do you?”

            Still wide-eyed, Maurice asked tentatively: “Any of what?”

            “We love one another, Papa,” Belle interjected, squeezing Rumplestiltskin’s hand. Pausing to give her a slight smile, he continued in the same cool tone: 

            “Kissing Belle broke the curse on me, and there was only one way to do that. As I am sure she has told you, True Love’s kiss can indeed break _any_ curse. It is the purest and most powerful magic in any world, and it is because of _that_ that I will override my desire to end your life.” 

            “Because of…magic?” Maurice sounded confused, but Rumplestiltskin (barely) managed to override the urge to snap at him. He took firm hold of his temper—much easier, he was finding, without the curse to reckon with—and replied honestly. 

            “Because I love your daughter.” 

            There. He’d said it out loud to someone other than Belle, and it actually hadn’t killed him. And—perhaps more realistically—the very strong remnants of his curse hadn’t swept in to lay waste to him again. Under other circumstances, Rumplestiltskin might have found amusement in the utter _astonishment_ on Maurice’s face, but here and now he was simply glad he could actually force himself to be honest. Belle deserved that, deserved better than the mixture of shock and horror on her father’s face. When disgust entered the mix, however, Rumplestiltskin’s temper started working its way out of the box he’d stuffed it in. He’d never had an especially long fuse, and if Sir Maurice looked at Belle that way for much longer, he might just give in to the temptation to permanently erase the other man’s face. 

            Pressure on his fingers reminded him that Belle was right there, and that she knew him well enough to see the rising anger. But he didn’t realize that she was almost as angry until _Belle_ spoke. 

            “I’m already told you how I feel about him, Father,” she said, her voice as hard as steel. Listening to it sent a chill down his spine, a wonderful sensual chill that made his heart beat just a little bit faster. “Rumplestiltskin and I are _in love._ And this is my life. My choice. Not yours.” 

            “He bargained for you in a _deal_ , Belle,” Maurice objected. 

            “And he let me out of that a long time ago,” Belle retorted. 

            “He…what? And you didn’t tell me?” 

            Belle scowled, leaning forward with her blue eyes flashing. “Because I knew you would react like this. Because I knew you wouldn’t understand. I am staying with him by choice, and you have _seen_ the proof of our love. It’s True Love, Papa, plain and simple. And True Love has to work both ways.” 

            “Belle, I only want you to be safe, darling. And if I—if I made the wrong choice to protect you, I will take the blame for that.” Swallowing visibly, Maurice looked at Rumplestiltskin again. “If there is any truth to what you say, please do not blame her for my mistakes.” 

            “I have no intention of doing so. Belle is…more precious to me than anything in the world.” His voice had grown gentler on the last sentence, but hardened again. “But _you_ are not.”           

            Maurice flinched. 

            “So this is what you are going to do,” Rumplestiltskin said softly. “You”—he twisted his wrist just so, and what he wanted appeared in a puff of maroon smoke—“are going to sign this contract. Because it is what Belle wants. And then I will forgive the little vacation you saw fit to send me on.” 

            To his credit, Maurice actually read the contract after it slid down the table to him. Or at least some of it. “This…this is a _marriage_ contract.” 

            “Indeed it is.”

 

           

*****************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think of Rumplestiltskin and Belle’s little revenge on Maurice? 
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter Nine, in which the happy couple returns home, Snow plays bandit, and someone desperate calls on Rumplestiltskin. In the meantime, please review!


	9. Chapter 9

          They returned to the Dark Castle the same afternoon Sir Maurice reluctantly affixed his signature and seal to the marriage contract. Much though Rumplestiltskin might have preferred to _not_ have to cross that distance using magic, he didn’t want to spend any longer away from home, either, and there was no way he felt like conjuring up (or fetching) an enchanted carriage. He was so damn tired, and now his body was reminding him that he’d not been precisely young for a human when he’d killed Zoso. The curse had made him immortal and it kept him from aging, but the body that had been beaten and tortured by Regina’s thugs had been fully human.

             By the time they appeared in his castle’s great hall, magic was the only thing keeping him on his feet. However, the fact that he had to _tell_ it to do so was new; he still could use the power, but it no longer swam effortlessly through every bone and muscle every moment of every day. Before, as the Dark One, he had _been_ magic. Now he simply _had_ magic. It was going to take some getting used to, even if he did have an enormous amount of power at his disposal.

             Part of him regretted the change. Despite his earlier thoughts, he could still hear the curse’s whispers if he listened hard enough, ever so faintly, beckoning him into comfortable normality. Telling him that all he had to do was open himself, embrace the darkness, and then everything would be back to how it was supposed to be. Nothing would hurt, and no one could _ever_ hurt him again. _Isn’t that what the spinner always wanted? To be_ powerful _, to be safe?_

             “Rumplestiltskin?” Belle’s voice jerked him out of the reverie, and his eyes snapped open. When had he shut them? He blinked, forcing the whispers aside.

            Temptation was the price, then. He’d known that before, but it was somewhat comforting to experience it firsthand. And what a temptation it was.

             “Right here,” he answered, digging up a wan smile for her. Doing so was easier these days, but even the darkness had wanted Belle. Of course, the man and his curse had never agreed on exactly what they wanted to _do_ with her, but in some ways they’d been in very close concert.

            “You look lost.” Her arm was still around his waist, and Belle pressed closer to him than was perhaps proper. But her presence was warm and so real, and kept him anchored. Kept him sane.

            He let out a breath. “Without you, I would be lost.”

            “Well, then,” she responded, looking up at Rumplestiltskin with a smile whose brilliance all but blinded him. “It’s a good thing you convinced my father to sign that marriage contract, then.”

            “Well, yes.” A flash of embarrassment heated his cheekbones, and he inwardly cursed the fact that he could visibly blushnow that the curse was broken. Of course, he would never have slapped that contract down in front of Maurice without Belle’s connivance, but it was still… _extraordinary._ It had sort of been his idea and had sort of been hers; they had nearly arrived at the logical conclusion together, and yet the thought still made his mind whirl.

            Rumplestiltskin suspected that a large part of him might never actually understand why Belle stayed with him. Yes, he knew of True Love’s power and had seen it overcome all kinds of obstacles for other couples over the centuries. Yet he was still the same man who had done countless terrible things during his long, dark life. He would make no excuses about the curse’s control over him; his actions had been his own. Even if the curse had encouraged him, driven him, he had always had a choice. A man like that did not deserve a woman like Belle. All logic decreed that she should _never_ have been willing to bind herself to him like this…and yet she had.

            Three signatures, one seal, and the deed was done. Legally speaking, the pair of them were married, even if there wasn’t a cleric in the world who could be found to perform a ceremony. _Nor one either of us would want, considering how this mess started._

            “Stop that.” She kissed him again, briefly, and that was something he could certainly get used to. It took all of his self-control not to cling to her like a drowning man clung to driftwood, to just collapse into her and let Belle tell him everything was going to be all right. He was so tired.

            “I owe you a ring,” he changed the subject as their foreheads touched, not wanting to talk about his stomach-churning fear and excitement, or about how terribly lost he actually didfeel right now.

            Belle laughed softly. “I don’t need a ring, Rumplestiltskin. Not while I have you.”

            “Ah, but what is the use of having a Lady of the Castle if I cannot shower you with jewels?” He pulled back to smile at her, shoving thoughts of tiredness and pain aside. The magic could support him for now, and watching her smile was a balm for all wounds.

            “Is that what I am now?” she asked with a coy smile.

            “You have been that for some time,” he answered truthfully, and she kissed him again. Apparently Rumplestiltskin was not the only one who was reveling in the fact that they _could_ kiss now; after so many months actively avoiding even the idea of a kiss, doing so was exhilarating. Belle’s arms wrapped around his neck, one of her hands curling into his hair, and he found himself pulling her ever closer to him. Between kisses, his voice came out in half a growl. “Belle…”

            “Yes?” There was no way she could sound that innocent by accident, was there? There was too much desire in her blue eyes for her to be unaware of the affect she was having on him, not with the way Belle pressed herself against him. His damnable leather pants were insanely tight.

            “You don’t…” Rumplestiltskin trailed off as she kissed him again, more insistently.

            “We _are_ married,” she said with a soft, hopeful smile.

            Fool though he might have been, even Rumplestiltskin could hear the invitation in her words. A part of him thought he should refuse her, because she _so_ deserved better than him, even if this was True Love—but her right hand trailing down his chest made him abandon all pretensions at restraint. “So we are.”

            He kissed her fiercely, starting to wonder if he should whisk them to his room or hers. Desire banished any thoughts of tiredness, and any lingering pain was easily forgotten. There was no way they were going to last long enough to tackle the winding staircases between the great hall and either of their bedrooms (rooms he would have to convince this thrice-enchanted castle to shift close to one another, and wouldn’t that be a project), so he needed to pick a destination before Belle turned his brain into melted butter. He was already dangerously close to dragging her over to the table and forgoing the idea of a bed, but he’d not do that to Belle, not for her first time.

            Later, however…

            “Oh, Rumple…” She made a lovely little sound when he ran his hands down her back, and his knees went weak. He was done for. Her room, then. She’d probably be more comfortable there, and—

            An unmistakable _tug_ actually pulled him back a few inches, and he snarled in incoherent fury. _Rumplestiltskin._

            “What is it?” Belle asked worriedly.

            “Someone. Is. Calling. My. _Name._ ” The words came out from behind gritted teeth. Damn it all. This might be important, and he couldn’t ignore it. Not when the careful threads he had been weaving into place for a century were finally starting to come together. This might _matter_.

            “Now?” she asked dejectedly.

            He growled. “Now.”

            _Rumplestiltskin!_ There it was, the tug again. Someone was desperate, and desperation fueled some of the most powerful magic. Who might it be? There was no knowing. It wasn’t a voice he recognized, anyway, whispering across the winds of magic. But that didn’t mean that whatever this coming deal was, he couldn’t turn it to his advantage.

            Belle, being Belle, found a small laugh. “Is this going to be the rest of our lives, then?”

            “Quite possibly.” Rumplestiltskin scowled. “Though I will certainly make them regret the timing.”

            “Not too badly, I hope.” But she smiled at him, a tiny smile that set his heart to racing all over again.

            “Horribly,” he promised with a grin, leaning close to steal another kiss. But then he made himself step back, twirling his fingers until he was wearing his old face again, scales, claws, and all. “Alas, my dear, I have a reputation to uphold.”

            “Go, then.” Belle’s answering grin turned wicked. “But don’t take _too_ long… I might get lonely.”

            Desire hit him like a punch to the gut, and he _almost_ decided to throw everything away and stay home. _Love makes us crazy,_ he reminded himself firmly, blaming his lightheadedness on that. And anticipation was supposed to heighten sensations.

             Right.

            Rumplestiltskin kissed her hand, because he didn’t trust himself to kiss anything else and be able to leave. And then he vanished.

           

*****************

 

            Snow let a breath out, told herself firmly to be strong, and turned and walked away. She refused to watch her friend’s back as they parted ways. Red deserved to go home to Granny, and Snow _was_ perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Red had taught her to hunt and track, and if worst came to worst, she had a favor from Rumplestiltskin to call upon. Not that she ever planned on using it, because there simply _had_ to be a catch. Red had told her enough about the Dark One that Snow understood that. Rumplestiltskin didn’t do anything without a good reason, and he certainly wasn’t in the business of saving young princesses from their evil stepmothers.

            Yet the situation had been so…strange. Belle had seemed so _honest_ , so in love. Snow and Red had been caught up in her quest so easily, both imagining themselves in her shoes, with their True Love stolen away by the Evil Queen. Neither had ever stopped to ask what Belle’s love was named—it hadn’t seemed to matter at the time. Belle was from another kingdom, and that meant neither of them expected to have recognized the name she would provide. In hindsight, of course, they _should_ have demanded a name. Because then they might have known that Belle was lying to them.

            Snow scowled, kicking up some rocks as she walked through the woods, staying parallel to the road. She liked to think of herself as a good judge of character, but Belle had completely hoodwinked both of them. They’d followed her into Regina’s dungeons, gotten Grimsby _killed_ , and for what? To rescue Rumplestiltskin? How had Regina been holding onto himanyway? Snow knew little about the Dark One other than what rumors said, but Red knew more. And Red had voiced the theory that whatever Rumplestiltskin was, it wasn’t entirely human, and that no human witch, not even one as evil as Regina, should have been able to hold him.

            And even if Regina was more powerful, how had Rumplestiltskin set things up so that a girl as sweet and kind as Belle was his rescuer? Had he enchanted _Belle?_ That possibility seemed more likely than Belle having been a willing participant in the ruse. Maybe poor Belle was under a love spell of some sort. Nothing else made sense. No matter how much she continued to mull over the issue through the next few hours of her walk, no better explanation occurred to her. Finally, she stopped, looking at the road and a nearby tree.

            “Well, this is as good a spot as any,” Snow muttered to herself, and went to work on the tree trunk.

            Twenty minutes later, the sudden sound of a coach approaching in the distance startled her. The tree had slammed into the ground several minutes before, and she’d just been sitting on it, thinking about the friend she’d thought she’d made and how things had gone wrong. Hearing the carriage, however, made Snow give up her thoughts to bolt into another nearby tree. The only carriages that crossed through this section of the forest belonged to Regina or her cronies, and that made this one a good target. Even if the outriders were dressed in white, they were bound to be connected to Regina in some way or another.

            She smiled to herself. Snow didn’t need to know what Regina was up to in order to poke at her, and stealing from her friends would make a good start.

           

*****************

 

            Of course, the deal turned out to be important only to the girl involved. _She’d_ been desperate, having been foolishly hoodwinked by her own maid and stuck tending geese while her maid tried to marry the prince, but that was hardly his problem. Rumplestiltskin could get her out of her sticky situation, of course—and sticky it was, judging from the amount of goose dung the poor princess was currently wearing—for a price. In the end, she’d hardly whined at all, and had accepted his demand that she surrender something precious to him at a later date.

            Usually, he would have asked for something more concrete. His contract with Cinderella was _not_ typical, thank you very much; he’d been testing the foolish girl and she had not precisely passed. However, he was starting to get inklings that he might need this little princess later, or at least her _mother’s_ cooperation. The kingdom she was marrying into was hardly a speck on the map, but her mother was a power in her own right and could very well prove useful in the future. So he had the girl sign the contract, arranged for her amulet to mysteriously re-appear, and waved her off to her happily ever after. It was hardly his finest work, but it would get the job done.

            By the time he was done plucking the amulet out of the river the girl had dropped it in (miles and miles away; she really was not very bright. Why _had_ her otherwise sound-of-judgment mother allowed her to travel alone?), he was horribly exhausted. In fact, by the time he made sure all the loose ends were tied up, his vision was starting to go wonky and the world was trying to spin. It took all of the concentration he had to get himself home, and the moment his feet touched the floor, his right leg gave out.

            Flailing, Rumplestiltskin tried to catch himself, grabbing for the chair at the end of the table and managing to catch it with the fingertips of his left hand. But he wasn’t close enough to actually use it for balance, and wound up bringing it crashing down to the floor with him. The heavy wooden chair landed on top of him, smashing into a rib that howled and cracked a little in protest.

             The inarticulate noise of pain that escaped only made the situation even more inglorious, and he let out a hard breath, lying on his back on the cold floor and staring at the ceiling. He watched it spin for a few moments before he could even try to steady it out with magic, and then felt his muscles twitch painfully in response. Somewhere in there, the glamour had collapsed, too, though his mind was a bit too muddled to determine when.

             _Human body, human limitations. Must remember that._ He’d used too much magic to compensate for his injuries and exhaustion, and now he was going to pay the price for that. Bloody wonderful.

            “Rumplestiltskin?” Belle ran into the room, skidding to a stop when she noticed his predicament. “Are you all right?”

            “Just fine, dear,” he answered automatically, sitting up and almost falling over again. Damn, he was dizzy.

            “What happened?” Immediately, she was by his side, righting the chair—which was big enough that she had to fight with it a little bit—and looking down at him worriedly. Had it not been for the concern in her eyes, he probably would have brushed her off, tried to pretend that he was fine until he could bury himself in bed and just sleep this disaster off…but it was _Belle._ She’d probably know he was lying, and, well…he was too tired to try.

            “Actually, I’m not all right,” he forced himself to say with painful honesty. “I don’t know if it’s the time with Regina or the different way of using magic, but…”

            “You’re still in pain,” she said softly.

            “Some. Not as bad.” But his ability to manage the newly-healed injuries (and the one rather wrongly-healed old one) with magic was rapidly deteriorating, and his hands were starting to shake. Rumplestiltskin scowled. He _hated_ feeling weak.

            _It would be so easy to—_

            No. He would not go there. He would let Belle help him up, ignore the damn curse and its seductive whispers, and sleep until his body had a chance to heal and adjust. He _would not_ let the curse back in, no matter how much better it would make things in the short term. Ignoring the temptation was hard, but Rumplestiltskin knew the truth that his curse wanted him to forget. He didn’t _need_ the curse to have power. Even had he not struck a deal with it, he would still have had more knowledge of magic than any living being, save perhaps Reul Ghorm, and the Blue Fairy was about as mortal as he had been as the Dark One, so she didn’t count. No, he didn’t need the darkness—and the very human core of him now understood that while his soul remained corrupted by it, he would never again be the type of man Belle deserved…or the father Baelfire had wanted.

            _Baelfire._ He’d abandoned his son for the power of that damn curse, and he’d nearly thrown Belle out for the same reason. But he’d been _wrong._ Yes, he needed power to do what needed to be done, but power he had. Darkness he could do without.

            The curse, however, did not appreciate that realization, and suddenly its fury crashed down upon him once more. All he remembered before the world went black was starting to scream.

 

 

*****************


	10. Chapter 10

Rumplestiltskin vaguely remembered Belle helping him into bed some hours before, with her supporting his weight as he shook and staggered.  His curse’s attack had not lasted too long, but it had left him dizzy, weak, and as helpless as a small child.  A thoroughly human body was not built to withstand the amount of magic which had whipped through him since the curse had broken, and he’d wound up puking all over the biting stairs—which made things worse by trying to eat his good leg.  Mostly he just dry heaved, however, not having enough food in his stomach to actually vomit anything up. 

            The next two days wound up as a blur, with Belle spoon feeding him broth when she could manage to wake him up.  The rest of the time he shook and slept.  There was nothing _actually_ wrong with him, but Rumplestiltskin’s (again) human body had completely skipped the gradual adjustment to magic that every single human witch/wizard/sorcerer/etc. experienced.  He’d gained power the fast and dirty way, experiencing none of the measured increase in power that everyone else did.  Now that he was fully human again, the result was a complicated whiplash of human frailties, where his body did not know how to respond to the power rushing through it yet _needed_ the same power.  That made him sicker than any attack from his curse, particularly because he’d used so much magic to keep himself going after torture at Regina’s hands. 

            On the third day, he managed to keep solid food down.  Belle still refused to let him get out of bed, and against his better judgment, he ignored the one call _tugging_ on a corner of his consciousness.  Whoever it was hadn’t spoken his name a second time, so Rumplestiltskin was able to convince himself that his would-be customer might not actually be desperate enough to bother with, anyway.  He slept instead. 

            When the fourth day rolled around, Belle managed to convince him to stay in bed—just one more day, she argued, curling up next to him against the giant stack of pillows—and then the woman did something even worse.  She got him talking. 

            “You were muttering about a curse in your sleep,” Belle said quietly. 

            “Well, there is one doing its best impersonation of a thunderstorm up there,” he pointed out, gesturing at the ceiling.  Again, the dark clouds of his curse had escaped his grasp, but now they swirled more slowly.  Whether it was cautious or patient, Rumplestiltskin thought that the curse had his measure now. He’d shared his soul with the damn thing long enough that it _should_ have known how stubborn he could be, and he was fairly certain that it would not try to attack him again. 

            Not while he was strong, anyway.  When he was weakened, the curse could smash through his defenses, but he could control it otherwise.  He’d have to be even more careful than he’d initially thought—it wasn’t like the Dark One’s curse was inclined to keep deals it made—but Rumplestiltskin was fairly sure he could manage it.  The laws of magic were on his side; there was a price to be paid for each act of magic, and he’d _paid_ that price already for the bargain, which meant that magic itself would help hold the curse at bay, somewhat.  He even knew a way to make the cloud go away, but he’d need to dig the dagger out of hiding for that and put a lot of work into it. 

            “You sounded like you meant another curse.  One you made?” Belle guessed. 

            He opened his mouth to protest, and then snapped it shut.  Though he _dreamed_ rarely—nightmares were more likely, given the things he had done—sometimes bits and pieces of the future came to him whilst he slept.  The future-tinged dreams were even more of an annoyance that the ability to see the future when he wanted to, of course; even seeing the shapes of the various puzzle pieces was difficult through the fog of sleep.  Not for the first time, he wished he’d never taken that infernal power, but he was stuck with it now.  Foretelling the future had nothing to do with his curse, and he couldn’t very well invite someone else to rip it from him. 

            Something was waiting for discovery on the edge of his consciousness, but the harder he chased the thought (memory?), the more elusive it became.  Rumplestiltskin scowled. 

            “There is another curse,” he admitted slowly.  Part of him didn’t want to tell her about it, but Belle was stuck in this with him now, and she needed to be prepared.  “The Curse to End All Curses.” 

            “That sounds dramatic.” 

            “It’s the most powerful curse ever written.  Powerful enough to tear everyone out of the Enchanted Forest and into the Land Without Magic.  To tear away all happy endings, to freeze time itself.” 

            Belle leaned away from him.  “That’s horrible.” 

            “It’s meant to be, dearie.” He batted her objections aside by reflex, but found himself, for the first time, contemplating his life’s work.  The curse _was_ dramatic.  It was ambitious, drastic, and well, it should have been more than a little horrifying.  But it was also necessary.  There was no other way. 

            “Why?” 

            “What do you mean ‘why’?  I’m the—well, I was, anyway.”  Even Belle should expect something like that from him.  Shouldn’t she? 

            Her smile was surprisingly sad.  “You never do anything without a reason.” 

            “True enough.”  Why then did he feel this sudden heaviness, the realization of exactly what horrors his curse would wreck upon this world?  Rumplestiltskin did not feel any particular remorse for his actions, and he certainly didn’t feel _responsible_ for anyone in the Enchanted Forest.  Great power or no, the world had never given him anything that he hadn’t taken, and he refused to feel like he should care what happened to them. 

            Resolutely, Rumplestiltskin pushed aside the strange flutter of guilt.  

            “Rumple?” 

            “I created it for Bae,” he admitted, his voice suddenly thick.  “To find Bae.”

 

*****************

 

            To say that Belle was not entirely happy about his creation of the Dark Curse was something of an understatement.  Being Belle, she waited until Rumplestiltskin was up and around before bringing the subject up again, but being Belle, she wasn’t going to let it rest, either.  Unfortunately, she chose to readdress the matter just as he commenced battle with the various enchantments that the castle’s previous occupants had enacted, starting with the winding, biting stairs leading up to his favorite work room in the tower. 

            He jumped back from one step with a string of curses, lacking his old agility but fortunately not quite crippled.  Though his curse had automatically corrected his physical failings, Rumplestiltskin could manage the same level of mobility using conscious magic, even if there was a small telltale of pain in his leg when he did so.  Still, it was better than needing a walking stick, and he didn’t have a noticeable limp, so Rumplestiltskin would take what he could get, even if the old injury twinged in pain every now and then.  It was better than re-shattering and actually _healing_ the leg, anyway, which was a process he didn’t even want to contemplate tackling.  Then the stupid stair tried to bite him again, and magic crackled out of his fingers.  

            The stair snapped at the air in protest, letting out a vicious little whining noise, but after several seconds of the magical beating, it finally submitted with a whimper.  “Stay like that,” Rumplestiltskin ordered, cautiously placing his left foot on the offending stair. 

            Victory.  It didn’t move.  

            “I almost feel sorry for the stairs,” Belle said as she approached, and he shot her a smile. 

            “Don’t be.  I’m the third dark sorcerer to own this place.  Most of the stranger enchantments aren’t mine.   I just convinced the place to cooperate.” 

            “What happened to the last one?” she asked curiously. 

            “He tried to break a deal with me.” Rumplestiltskin shrugged, studying the wall next to the stairs.  That was his next target, having been enchanted to suck in unwelcome visitors—and having acquired a new habit of trying to trap _him_ instead.  The reason the enchantments in the castle had suddenly decided to defy him was…interesting, to say the least, but at the moment he wasn’t up to thinking about why something created (and cowed) by dark sorcerers no longer viewed him sufficiently dark to obey without question.  “It didn’t go so well for him.” 

            “Oh.”           

            Puzzled, he turned to face her.  “What is it, sweetheart?” 

            “I’ve been thinking,” Belle replied slowly.  “About the curse.” 

            “Which one?” 

            “The one you wrote.”  Unhappy though she looked, Belle allowed him to take her hands and pull her into a small sitting room halfway up the tower.  It was a rarely used room, and rarely dusted (even during Belle’s servant days), but at least it gave them somewhere to talk.  

            “Belle…” 

            He’d explained his reasoning to her, had even told her about the many steps he’d already undertaken to make sure that the curse could be successfully executed.  Rumplestiltskin had never imagined telling _anyone_ about his plans, and yet not telling her had never even occurred to him.  But he’d known that she wasn’t happy with him, and now her stubborn expression told him that he was about to get an earful. 

            “Let me finish, please?  Before you say anything else?” she asked, squeezing his hands for emphasis. 

            “Of course.” 

            Rumplestiltskin braced himself for a lecture on the morality of tearing thousands of people out of their homes and happy endings simply to find his lost son.  He knew that using the curse wasn’t _right_ , of course—though he’d never really concerned himself with morality before, not since before he was the Dark One, anyway—but doing the right thing paled in comparison with finding Baelfire and always had.  He _needed_ to find his son, at least to apologize to him, to somehow try to make up for his own cowardice.  The rest of the world could burn if it meant finding Bae, knowing his attitude was wrong didn’t change it at all.  Belle, however, surprised him and jumped straight to the heart of the matter. 

            “Isn’t there anything else you can do?” she asked.  “Some other way to get him back?” 

            “If there was another way, don’t you think I would have done it by now?” he snapped before he could stop himself.  Then he winced, hating himself for taking that centuries’ old anger out on Belle.  “The seer told me that the curse will be cast.  I’ve seen it, too.  The curse _is_ coming.  There’s nothing that can be done to change that.” 

            “You told me that you only see pieces of the puzzle, though,” Belle said thoughtfully.  “How can you know that you’ve seen the right ones?” 

            “I just _know_ , Belle.”                                                          

            He’d always been so certain…except for the small flashes of _something_ he’d started seeing after Belle broke his curse. 

            “Can you promise me something?”  Unexpectedly, she stepped close to him, wrapping her arms around him, and Rumplestiltskin returned the embrace, letting his eyes close and resting his cheek on her hair.  Just touching her was relaxing, brought him a kind of peace he had thought gone forever when he’d taken on that curse. 

            “Anything.”  He’d never dare say those words to anyone other than Belle, but he knew that she would never ask for something he could not give. 

            “Promise me that you’ll try.  That you’ll try to find another way, and that you’ll work towards that as well.” 

            “And if there isn’t?” he had to ask. 

            “Then I’ll help you in every way I can, and I’ll stand by you every step of the way,” Belle promised, her voice fierce.  “Forever means forever, and I won’t let you face this alone.” 

            His voice caught in his throat.  _I love this woman more than words can express._   “I promise,” Rumplestiltskin said softly. 

            After all, promising her that he would explore other paths cost him nothing, and he would do almost anything to lay Belle’s mind at rest.  This certainly qualified.

 

*****************

 

            _“Is this what you really want, Snow?” Red asked her quietly.  “I mean, I’m sure he can do it, but…”_

_“I have to forget him.  He’s getting_ married _, Red.  And I can’t go on the rest of my life like this,” Snow replied around the lump in her throat.  She couldn’t do this anymore, couldn’t spend every waking moment thinking of her Prince Charming.  He was going to do the right thing, as all princes must, and marry Princess Abigail.  Otherwise, King George would kill him.  And she couldn’t let that happen, so she’d told him that she didn’t love him, and yet she still couldn’t stop thinking about him.  Loving him._ Wanting _him._

_“Then go,” Red said, hugging her.  “And good luck.”_  

            Two days of travel later, Snow eased her boat against the dock that the locals claimed led towards the Dark Castle.  The fog was thick and it was dark out, and though the old wise woman she had talked to suggested restarting her journey in broad daylight, Snow felt that now was appropriate.  She hadn’t dared call for Rumplestiltskin the way legend said you could—what if Regina could hear such calls?  Regina would use any weakness she could find against Snow, and she couldn’t risk having her stepmother know she was in love. 

            So here she was.  Ready to take the long walk up to the castle of the Dark One, and hoping against hope that he really was true to his word and would do her this favor without charging anything.  After all, what did she have to offer him?  Once, she’d been a princess, with the world at her fingertips, but now Snow was just a bandit.  She was an outlaw while her evil stepmother ran her kingdom.  She was nothing. 

            Letting out a deep breath to banish her fears, Snow stepped from the boat and crouched down to make it fast to the pier.  Then there was a slight noise behind her, and she spun, only to find the Dark One himself sitting in the stern of her rowboat. 

            “How much for this?” Rumplestiltskin asked, and the strange sound of his high-pitched voice made her jump. 

            She had to catch her breath.  “Excuse me?” 

            “Your boat.  Exquisite craftsmanship.”  

            “It’s not for sale,” Snow managed around the lump in her throat.  Having seen him before really didn’t make him less frightening, but she was a princess—even if one in exile—and would act like one.  Even if he wasn’t really…human at all.  _How did Belle fall in with him?  What was he using her for?_  

            He giggled.  “Of course it is, dearie.  No one comes to see me without a deal in mind.” 

            “You said you’d owe us favors,” Snow replied resolutely, squaring her shoulders.  “When we helped Belle.” 

            “So I did.”  He rose gracefully, hopping out of the boat with a flourish, and then swept her a graceful bow that was oddly reminiscent of the day Snow and Red had discovered that Belle’s so-called “True Love” was actually Rumplestiltskin, and that the girl they had befriended had lied to them.  But if that helped her now, Snow was willing to forget the lie.  Forgetting, after all, was her goal.  “Name your desire, ‘fairest of them all’.” 

            “I need a cure.” 

            “What ails you, child?” 

            She took a deep breath, swallowing back the urge to ask him to find a way to make Charming hers forever.  “A broken heart.” 

            “Ah, _the_ most painful of afflictions.”  Was there an odd note in his voice, or was she just imagining that?  “Well, I’m afraid if you want me to make him love you, no can do, and nothing can.” 

            “No, that’s not the problem,” Snow choked out, wishing things were that simple.  “We can’t be together.” 

            He held up a finger, suddenly looking playful.  “Well, _that_ , I can help you with.” 

            Reaching into a pouch at his side, Rumplestiltskin removed a small bottle, laughing…oddly as he did so.  Without another word, he dropped to one knee on the dock, and dipped the bottle in the water, filling it most of the way before shaking the excess water droplets off.  Then—though she could swear the water was perfectly clear not moments before—the liquid in the bottle turned a murky, snowy white while he just held it there.  Snow could only stare. 

            “That’ll do it?” she asked dubiously. 

            He gave her a look that said she was around two years old, and stupid, too.  “Not yet.”  Then his expression grew unreadable again.  “No two loves are exactly alike.  We must make this”—The imp rose, and without warning, grabbed several strands of her hair, yanking them out.  Snow yelped as he laughed—“Personal.” 

            Slowly, Rumplestiltskin slid one of her hairs into the bottle as Snow watched, transfixed.  She barely found the courage to ask: 

            “So, if I drink that, I’ll no longer love him?” 

            “The next time you see the object of your grief, you won’t even remember who he is,” was the answer as Rumplestiltskin put a stopper in the bottle.  

            Snow’s heart constricted.  “I…won’t even remember him?” 

            Somehow, that thought hurt almost as much as loving him did.  Charming’s face flashed before her eyes, his smile, his laugh.  She _loved_ him. Even if the emotion was crippling, how could she forget him?  It would be like forgetting a part of herself.  

            “Love is _the_ most powerful magic,” Rumplestiltskin replied, leaning close to her.  His voice was low, now, not sing-songy or joking.  Simply serious.  “So the cure must be…extreme.” 

            “Extreme sounds like an understatement,” she swallowed. 

            “Doubting yourself already, dearie?  Do think it through.  Love is like a delicate flame—and once it is gone, it is gone forever.” Amber eyes burned into hers, startlingly perceptive.  “Are you sure this is what you want?” 

            _If I do this, I’ll forget him_.  Snow wanted to cry, but she was not going to let this terrifying sorcerer see that kind of weakness from her.  The only thing worse than forgetting Charming forever would be living with the knowledge that he’d married someone else, that she could love him with all of her heart and never see him again.  Perhaps taking the potion would be better.  Then Charming would not have to be weighed down by her love.  He could go on, and maybe she could, too.  Maybe then she could forget the hole in her heart caused by having lost him. 

            “We can’t be together,” she repeated sadly, reaching for the bottle.  She’d do this for Charming, if not for herself.  For James. 

            “You haven’t asked my price.”  The imp moved it out of her reach.  

            That was too much.  Bad enough that she had to deal with her own heartbreak; Snow had no intention of playing any games.  “I thought you said you’d owe us a favor.  Red and I,” she snarled.  “Is this how you keep your promises?” 

            “I always honor my agreements,” he answered, his voice suddenly devoid of laughter and very, very dangerous.  Then the smile returned, brilliant and mocking, and the sudden darkness vanished.  “Don’t waste a favor from Rumplestiltskin with this, Princess.  These’ll do.” 

            In between the fingers of his other hand, he held a few strands of her hair.  Snow stared. 

            “What do you need of my hair?” 

            “What do you need of it now that it’s been plucked from your head?” he countered. 

            He had a point, so Snow only shrugged as he held the bottle up. 

            “Do we have a deal, or will you waste your favor on something so trivial?” 

            _It’s only hair,_ Snow told herself.  Whatever he wanted it for, well, it probably wouldn’t matter to her.  “We have a deal,” she said quietly, taking the bottle from Rumplestiltskin and making to turn away.  His voice turned her back. 

             “One word of advice—in the spirit of gratitude, so to speak,” Rumplestiltskin said, his fingers forming a steeple under his chin.  “Love may be the most infectious of diseases, but our pain makes us who we are.  Regret drives more strongly than any other force.  Drinking that potion will remove your pain…but remember—all magic comes at a price.” 

            Something in his voice made her pause, but Snow pushed away her doubts.  “Right.  I—” 

            But he was gone, vanished into the mists or…something.

 

*****************

 

            Sliding one hair into the bottle—the other he had put into a box for safekeeping, carefully labeled and set aside for later use, just in case—Rumplestiltskin sat down at his favorite work table.  He wasn’t sure if Snow White would take the forgetfulness potion or not, but even if she did, her love for her Prince Charming would only grow with time, forgotten or no.  He knew they would wind up together as well as he knew his own name, and the fact that they had to fight for one another would only make their love stronger. 

            Rumplestiltskin smiled wryly.  He knew that from experience. 

            “I thought you used some strange ingredients in magic, but _hair?_ ”  Belle’s voice came from behind him, making him jump.  He’d been too deep in thought to notice her entering the room, but now she lowered herself onto the bench next to him, bumping him over with her hip to make space.             

            Despite himself, he smiled.  “Hello to you, too, dear.”           

            “Hi.”  Belle leaned in to kiss him, and Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes briefly, leaning his forehead against hers. 

            “What are you doing here?” he asked after a moment.  “I thought you were off with that fencing master down in town.” 

            “I’m afraid that I’m still terrible at fencing,” she replied with a grin.  “He told me that I was hopeless, and I came home.” 

            “Pity.  I think you look quite fetching with a sword in hand.” 

            “I think you’re biased.” 

            “Perhaps,” he grinned. 

            Belle snuggled against his shoulder.  “So, what are you making, anyway?” 

            “True Love, of course.”  Rumplestiltskin put a stopper in the vial, not willing to let anything contaminate the ingredient he already had.  “From your friend Snow White.  Soon enough, her charming prince will come storming in, and I’ll add his hair to it.  It should work.” 

            “Have you done this before?” Belle asked, peering curiously at the bottle. 

            “Never.  But True Love is the most powerful of magics, and we’ll need it to break the curse once it transports us to the Land Without Magic.” 

            “I thought True Love could break any curse?” 

            “Ah, but that’s in a land _with_ magic, Belle.  In a land without it, I have to set things up just right.  And besides, it is a foolish sorcerer who does not predetermine the exact conditions under which their curse may be broken.” 

            Belle sat up to peer at him curiously.  “I thought some people didn’t want their curses to be broken?” 

            “Those that think they can write an unbreakable curse are fools,” he replied waving a hand at the rack of potions in front of them.  “ _Nothing_ is unbreakable—you proved that.”  They smiled at one another, and he resolutely ignored the distant whispers of his former curse inside his mind.  “But it is possible to _restrict_ how a curse can be broken.  This one, for example, will only be broken by a child of Snow White and Prince Charming, the product of their True Love.  So I will put a drop of their True Love on the parchment, thus creating a safety valve.” 

            “I think you believe most people who use magic are fools,” his wife— _wife!_ —laughed at him. 

            He shrugged.  “That’s because they are.” 

            “Do you ever check your ego?” 

            “Not usually.” 

            “Then why do you think so?” Belle asked, reaching one hand up to play with his hair.  

            Leaning into her touch, Rumplestiltskin contemplated telling her one of a half hundred anecdotes he had to describe how most people toyed with magic and managed to destroy themselves—or that which they sought to protect—in the process.  But he could have shared a thousand such stories without ever really getting to the heart of the matter, so he chose to approach the topic head on.  “Because they don’t count the cost,” he replied, a delicious shiver running down his spine as Belle’s fingers lightly caressed his skull.  “All magic—” 

            “Comes with a price,” Belle cut him off.  “Even _I_ know that, Rumple.” 

            “Ah, but do you know why I say that?” he asked her, smiling.  He’d always enjoyed teaching, much to his surprise, even if his first pupil had brought him a world full of trouble.  _Still, had Cora not broken my heart, I’d not be here, now.  And_ this _is so much better._  

            “Because you like making deals?” 

            “No.  Well, I won’t deny I that enjoy it—but that isn’t the point.  The point is that all magic has consequences, Belle.”  He rose to pace a bit, warming up to his subject.  His leg twitched slightly in pain, but the disability was still manageable.  “Magic is cause and effect.  For every bit of magic you _use_ , there is a result.  And that result is separate from the effect you _intend_ by using such magic.  The cost is always something more.  An unintended consequence, if you will.  Sometimes the price is small—a lifespan shortened by several minutes, a slight blackening of the heart, a storm on a sunny day—and sometimes, particularly with the greater magics, it is not so small at all.” 

            “Like what?” She frowned thoughtfully, her forehead creasing in concentration.  Belle leaned forward eagerly—if there was one thing he’d always know about her, the girl did love learning. 

            “Did you ever wonder where dragons come from?” 

            Belle looked at him dubiously.  “No way.” 

            “Oh, yes.  Dragons, minotaurs, chimeras, harpies, manticores, sirens, and even unicorns.  Pretty much every magical creature you can think of.  Some of them can breed, but the originals… All are unintended consequences of fools using magic that they do not understand, and refusing to count the cost.” 

            “Then how do you avoid that by demanding a price?” 

            Unlike Cora, who had never given a damn what magic cost anyone outside herself, and unlike Regina, who was so wrapped up in her own pain that she decided to take it out on the world, Belle was _listening._   He could see that brilliant mind of hers turning his words over, one by one, thinking and evaluating.  It was a pity that Belle had no innate talent for magic, because Rumplestiltskin was quite certain that she would have made an outstanding sorceress.  _And unlike me, she’d never be touched by this sort of darkness.  No, Belle would be the stuff from which legends are made—legends of the good kind._   Still, he shook himself free to continue the lesson.

            “Because the cost is not predetermined.  You can manage it, if you play your cards right.  Magic doesn’t care _what_ the cost is—it just has to be enough to counterbalance the weight, the worth, of what you are trying to do.  Take ‘Cinderella,’ for example.” 

            “What about her?”

            “The magic I used changed her life.  Literally.  It took her from an unpaid servant, dressed in rags, and turned her into the type of woman that her prince would notice.  She could have done that on her own, possibly, but it would have taken a great deal of work, and the magic sidestepped that work for her.  Therefore, the _cost_ of that magic must be also life changing.” 

            Belle frowned.  “Then why did you simply demand something precious of her?  Shouldn’t you have been more specific, to make sure the magic is, um, satisfied?” 

            “I should have.  You’re right.”  He met her frown with a smile, wagging a finger at her.  “But the girl didn’t read the fine print, and that means the _potential_ for loss is even greater.  She said she’d give ‘anything’, and signed the contract.  Such willingness to sacrifice is more than enough to balance the scales.” 

            “What will you ask, then?” 

            For a long moment, he contemplated lying to Belle.  Belle wouldn’t like this one, he knew, possibly even as much as she hated the idea of the Dark Curse.  But he’d promised himself—and her—honesty, and Rumplestiltskin would try to live up to that. 

            “For her firstborn child.” 

            _“What?”_ Belle gasped.  “Rumplestiltskin, you can’t.  That’s—that’s _horrible._ ” 

            He scowled.  “I don’t steal babies for fun, sweetheart.  I’d find the child a good home, one where it was needed.” 

            “You’d make _two_ deals for a child, then.  That’s not much better,” she retorted, glaring and crossing her arms. 

            “Relax.  She won’t give the child to me.”  Much of the future remained an uncooperative puzzle, but he knew that much was certain.  What he _did_ with that betrayal was still left undecided; for if he did explore another path as Belle wanted, how would he deal with that?  Rumplestiltskin had no intention of living out the remainder of his life in a cage, and that meant he’d have to break the logjam somehow.  _Think on that later._

            “Then what will you do to her?” Belle asked warily. 

            “Eh.  She’ll try to trick me, use some friends to imprison me.  It might be useful,” he replied lightly. 

            “Imprison?” Belle echoed, and now her worry was for him. 

            But he only smiled, sitting back down next to her.  “Don’t worry, darling.  They’ve yet to build a cell that will hold me, even without the curse.” 

            She believed him, thankfully, and did not bring up the fact that Regina had held him for nearly two weeks, torturing Rumplestiltskin to the point where he almost _couldn’t_ do magic.  Belle’s arrival—and the timely release of several of those magic-blocking shackles—had made him desperate enough to break free regardless of the personal cost, but had she not shown up, he didn’t know how long it would have taken.  Would he have managed it if not so worried for her, had his desperate need to keep Belle safe not fueled his magic?  Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure.  He did know that he would allow nothing in the world to hurt Belle while he yet breathed, and that he’d fight for her long after he was incapable of fighting for himself. 

            Yet amongst all those thoughts, he never once contemplated the fact that it was _love_ which had lent him such power, rather than the darkness to which he was so accustomed. 

 

*****************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting this! Ironically, although this story is much simpler than “Original Powers”, it’s been giving me fits lately. So my writing pace has slowed. That said, stay tuned for Chapter 11, in which Rumplestiltskin and Belle receive an unexpected pair of visitors. Here’s a clue: neither character has shown up in this story yet, but are both close friends of someone who has.
> 
> In the meantime, do you think Rumplestiltskin will do as Belle asks and find a way to get to his son aside from the Dark Curse? Let me know what you think!


	11. Chapter 11

Days whipped by.  Rumplestiltskin’s pet prince and princess ran circles around one another, desperately in love and fighting to save one another again and again.  Rumplestiltskin and Belle settled into a far different life than the one they’d shared prior to his curse breaking, and even amidst his mad preparations for the Curse to End All Curses, he found a measure of peace that he had never thought to find again.  She kept him centered, Belle did, gave him something to live for other than the bittersweet memory of a son he lost.  Ever so slowly, Belle’s love uncovered the man he had been before the Dark Curse, and Rumplestiltskin started to change. 

            A little, anyway.  The darkness had been on him too long to return him to the naive and gentle spinner he had been.  Physical courage he could mimic now, particularly with magic always at his fingertips, but the shy spinner’s nonexistent self-esteem still existed beneath the hard outer shell.  Belle called him a walking contradiction, a man with unlimited power who continued to hate himself.  But Rumplestiltskin was under no illusions.  He _knew_ what he was, even without the curse to own his soul.  He was scarred, tainted, _dark_ , and he was still ruthless enough to turn an entire world inside out to find his boy. 

            Yet every now and then, he caught a fleeting glimpse of a piece to a different puzzle, the image of the Dark Curse turned inside out.  Every time he tried to hold to the visions, they vanished, but they also stayed with him.  His previous visions had never included his own curse breaking.  He had always remained the Dark One through the journey to a Land Without Magic.  Had he and Belle changed something else when they had kissed, breaking his curse?  _“You will learn to tell what_ can _be from what_ will _be,”_ the seer had told him, all those years ago.  Rumplestiltskin had thought he had mastered that skill. 

            What if he was wrong? 

            What if he were to become the Dark One once more?  Would that bring things back on track? 

            “Shut up,” he muttered to his own doubts.  Hopes?  The two were so difficult to tell apart these days.  And his curse remained crafty.  It still wanted back in, and in his more impatient moments, he wanted to _let_ it back in, wanted to believe that he could actually have everything, that he could remain cursed, love Belle, and find Baelfire. 

            _You need the power, and the power is here…_  

            Shooting a glare up at the swirling clouds on the ceiling of his work room, Rumplestiltskin returned his attention to the dagger on the table.  He’d dug it out of hiding that morning while Belle curled up with a good book, planning to force as much of the Dark One’s curse back into the dagger as he could manage.  He could live with the whispers—they were hardly new, and were so much more quiet these days than the full on demands for blood and anger and fear and terror had been while he was under the curse—but that cloud of furious power needed to go.  It had attacked him thrice more while his guard was down, and while he’d come out of each successive encounter better than the last, it was only a matter of time before the curse chose to attack at an exceedingly inconvenient moment.    

            Slowly, he removed the cloth wrapped around the dagger, willing his hands not to shake.  He’d not had the courage to look at the dagger since the curse had broken.  Belle would undoubtedly have told him to do so, but for all he’d explained the curse to her, he’d left out any mention of the dagger.  Much to his chagrin, he’d shared that information once before, and then had gone to great lengths to ensure the woman who knew his weakness was banished to another world, long after she’d broken his heart.  He’d not be so foolish twice, at least not until he knew.  Not that Belle was like Cora in any way, but some lessons did tend to stick. 

            The blade shined dully in the mid-afternoon light, sharp-edged, clean and…not quite blank.  Lifting it by the hilt, Rumplestiltskin turned it this way and that, noticing that when the light hit the blade just right, a name was visible.

              _Rumplestiltskin_  

            Damn.  Broken though the curse might have been, it still lingered.   And judging from the way the dagger looked, it still lingered in _him._  

            Rumplestiltskin repressed the desire to growl at the dagger.  _His_ dagger, still.  It probably could still kill him, too—though he strongly suspected that he was mortal enough to worry about more mundane threats killing him, as well, or at least those that might slay him faster than he could heal himself.   Those concerns, however, were for another time.  For now he needed to contain the damn curse before it found a way to do something he’d regret letting it do.  He had to maintain a careful balance between access to the curse’s power and containing the sheer _darkness_ it embodied.  Containing it at all would mean he’d have a harder time using the power, but that was something he’d just have to live with.  Still, he had never once used the full power available to him while under the curse, and what he would be able to access would still dwarf anything available to any mortal magic user.  He wasn’t fond of limitations, but the ability to own his own soul for the first time in three centuries balanced the equation out nicely. 

            Clearing his mind and reaching for the magic, he went to work.

 

*****************

 

            Instead of taking the memory potion, the young Princess Snow found herself in King George’s hands, having been chased down by her True Love after she tried to push him away.  The pair of them ran afoul of the so-called prince’s (supposed) father’s men, which turned into a chase that ended with Snow injured and captured.  Rumplestiltskin had expressed mild surprise at that change when he’d noticed it—he hadn’t expected her to prove so resilient, he told Belle—but otherwise things were going according to his plan. Just thinking of the long years of work he had put into this scheme of his was almost enough to make her head spin.  It took more than an ability to see the future to pull together the hundreds of strings he was busy weaving together, and there were times that she thought he was as insane as he was brilliant. 

            At the moment, however, Belle was curled up in the great hall with a good book, relishing the opportunity to put aside her worries for a while.  Just that morning, she and Rumplestiltskin had gone through the first argument of their marriage—though certainly not their first ever fight; that one was long in the past—and she still wasn’t sure what the result was.  He’d gone up to his tower workroom to sulk and (supposedly) do something useful, and she buried herself in a book.  Eventually, Rumplestiltskin would come around to the fact that she was right, and Belle knew that she’d wind up giving a little bit on the topic of actually having a household.  She knew the reason why he never kept servants around was because he didn’t want to manage them, not even through a head steward of some sort.  But Belle had been raised to run a household much like the Dark Caste was built to require, and she thought it would be entirely smarter if Rumplestiltskin employed some human help to take the burden off of his magic. 

            He hadn’t exactly told her she was wrong, either, which definitely told her that she was going to win.  In fact— 

            “Rumplestiltskin!” a deep voice bellowed as the doors flew open, startling Belle out of her book.  Usually, Rumplestiltskin intercepted visitors in the entrance hall, so if the intruder had made it this far, her love must have been very distracted. 

            Interestingly enough, though she waited the requisite moment or two, he _still_ didn’t appear, leaving Belle faced with two strangers: an irate and balding dwarf, and a prince handsome enough to make even a married woman swoon. 

            “Can I help you?” she asked courteously, rising from her chair and smoothing her dress down.  Thankfully, Rumplestiltskin had insisted that she look the part of the lady of the castle even when they weren’t expecting guests, and had completely replaced her wardrobe of “work” dresses with more elegant clothing.  She’d insisted on _comfortably_ elegant clothing, but hadn’t kept him from spoiling her—Belle could tell he enjoyed it, and she wasn’t exactly averse to looking her best.  Although the gaggle of dressmakers her husband had brought in _had_ been more than a little annoying when they’d insisted upon cowering every time Rumplestiltskin showed up.

             The dwarf stopped cold.  “Who are you?” he demanded. 

            “Who are you?” she countered, approaching the pair with a smile.  The prince—judging from his bearing, he could be nothing else, although Belle couldn’t think of any princes who were known for keeping company with dwarves—looked around warily, as if waiting for something to attack them.  The dwarf just met her eyes brazenly. 

            “I asked you first,” he retorted. 

            Belle chuckled.  “So you did.  I’m Belle.” 

            She probably should have introduced herself more formally, but the stubborn look on the dwarf’s face just made her want to hug him and laugh.  

            “Lady Belle.” The prince swept her a bow and kissed her hand, all charm and grace.  But he wasn’t staring at her like she was some piece of meat, either, which meant that Belle smiled back at him.  “I’m Prince James, and this is Grumpy the dwarf.” 

            She curtseyed.  “Welcome to the Dark Castle.” 

            “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” Grumpy demanded gruffly. 

            Prince James shot his companion an exasperated glare, but Belle laughed again.  “I live here, of course.” 

            “You _what_?” Grumpy gaped, and even Prince James looked concerned.  “Where’s—where’s Rumplestiltskin, then?  Did you somehow take the—” 

            “Right here, dearie.”  

            Belle sometimes wondered how he could start talking even whilst in the midst of appearing, and this time she was fairly certain that his voice arrived at least a second prior to his body.  But appear he did, on the far side of the room from her and behind both of their visitors.  He hadn’t bothered to change out of the silk shirt and vest he’d been wearing earlier, but the golden-hued skin was back along with the rest of the features he had worn before the curse was broken. 

            Rumplestiltskin moved forward lightly, almost prancing, and obviously enjoying the shock on the faces of the prince and the dwarf.  Belle supposed that she should scold him for playing with people the way he played with words, but truth be told, she rather enjoyed his somewhat skewed sense of humor.  Besides, at least this game was harmless enough.  Even if Rumplestiltskin did offend their guests, the prince and the dwarf were at the Dark Castle because they wanted something, and that meant they had no choice but to put up with Rumplestiltskin’s eccentricities.  Both spun now to face the castle’s lord, with the dwarf looking particularly guilty for whatever assumption he had been about to make. 

            “And I would ask you,” Rumplestiltskin continued, his tone making it clear he wasn’t _requesting_ anything at all, “to show the Lady of this castle the respect she deserves.” 

            “The _what_?” Prince James demanded, flabbergasted. 

            Belle resisted the urge to giggle as Rumplestiltskin reached her side, kissing the hand with the sapphire and woven gold ring he’d crafted just for her.  Her husband’s eyes were dancing merrily, more brown than amber, and she knew the slight smile on his lips was meant only for her.  She squeezed his fingers briefly, pulling in a deep breath to maintain her composure.  Belle had always been more down to earth than dignified, but they all had a part to play. 

            _“You do know,” Rumplestiltskin had whispered into her hair three nights before, his arms wrapped around her from behind.  His lips touched her neck, and Belle shivered.  “That you are now the most powerful woman in the world.”_  

            _“Oh?” In the days since the signing of their marriage contract, Rumplestiltskin had used magic to combine their two rooms into one greater chamber, one featuring an enormous balcony from which Belle loved to watch the sun set over the mountains.  The sky was filled with beautiful shades of reds, purples, and yellows, but her husband was quite effectively turning her attention away from the sight._

_“You are the only woman in the world who has my power at her fingertips.  Anything you want…yours.  All you need do is ask.”_

_He’d put it in the marriage contract, this huge concession for a sorcerer who carefully weighed out the cost of every bit of magic he used.  He’d offered something more, too, a gift Belle was still wary of and unsure if she wanted to accept.  But she understood what both meant, how he was giving_ himself _to her, giving Belle all that he was and trusting her to never abuse that gift.  She knew that trust did not come easily to him, and knew that Rumplestiltskin feared allowing himself to be hurt the way he feared nothing else, and she’d promised him, and herself, that she would always be worthy of their love._

_“That sounds dangerous,” Belle replied, turning her head to steal a quick kiss._

_“Exceedingly,” he murmured.  “But you are also the only woman in the world I know will never abuse it.  Or allow me to.”_

_“I trust you.”  Her faith in him had only been shaken once, when in a towering rage he had tried to throw her out.  But Rumplestiltskin_ hadn’t _thrown her out, and Belle knew that he too believed their love was worth fighting for._

_He chuckled darkly.  “One of us has to.”  But when she made to argue, he shushed her with a kiss.  “Even without the curse, sweetheart, I am the most powerful sorcerer in the world.  Mortal, now, but still able to turn the others to dust.  With that power still at my fingertips…I_ am _still dangerous.  There is still much of the monster in me.”_

_“You’re not a monster,” she retorted fiercely, twisting in his arms to face him.   “You’ve_ never _been a monster.  Don’t call yourself that.”_

_Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes, his expression sad.  “Only with you am I not.”_  

            His laugh, the old high-pitched and threatening twitter, brought Belle out of her memory of three nights earlier.  There was an edge of warning in Rumplestiltskin’s voice when he answered Prince James’ question.  “My wife, of course.” 

            “Your _what_?” Grumpy gaped, looking sickened, and Belle’s temper rose to join with Rumplestiltskin’s. 

            “His wife,” she retorted, turning a glare on the dwarf and daring him to say something rude.  “As in, we’re married.” 

            “Watch out,” Rumplestiltskin added, none too helpfully.  “She has teeth!” 

            Belle turned her exasperated look on her husband, despite the fact that she appreciated how her maddeningly overprotective man seemed content to let her fight her own battles.  “I am sure that our guests are here for something more important than meeting me,” she reminded him.  “Shall we fetch some tea for them?” 

            “Oh, no.”  Turning, Rumplestiltskin sprawled in the chair she had vacated. “They won’t be staying long.  They’re here about poor little Snow White, languishing in King George’s dungeon.” 

            The look on Prince James’ face was enough to tell Belle that _this_ man was Snow’s infuriating prince, the one she’d mentioned to Belle and Red, and the one who Rumplestiltskin said would eventually marry her (and who Rumplestiltskin had told her, in a fit of snickering, really wasn’t a prince at all).  Clearly James was as smitten as Snow, because his stricken and desperate expression reminded Belle of herself when Regina held _her_ True Love.

             “You have to help us save her,” James said immediately.  “Please.  She was captured because of me, and King George would rather kill her than let us be together.  Or he’ll hand her to Queen Regina, which is even worse.” 

            “Your story tugs at my heart strings, _Your Highness_ , but I can’t just wave my hand and rescue your princess,” Rumplestiltskin replied, pointing a finger at Prince James. “All magic comes at a price, and that’s one you can’t pay.” 

            Belle bit back a frown.  Contrary to what he was saying, Rumplestiltskin _probably_ could do just that, but he’d also explained to Belle that True Love was made stronger by the trials that each pair endured.  People could merely _love_ strongly, but True Love stood the test of time, weathered battles and loses and pain.  True Love was never easy, and was more than plain love; it was a constant struggle as much as it was a constant joy.  Her relationship with Rumplestiltskin certainly proved that. 

            “I’ll do whatever it takes,” James replied right away.  “If my life is required to rescue her, I’ll give it.  Happily.” 

            “Oh, no.  We can’t have that.”  Rumplestiltskin rose, prowling towards James as Grumpy watched warily.  “That’s the thing about True Love, dearie.  You have to _live_ for it to matter.  It's the most powerful magic in the world, the only magic powerful enough to break any curse.  It must be protected at all costs, so you can’t _die_ for her.  You have to _live_ for her.” 

            “Then what do you want?” Grumpy demanded.  “You’ll always help for a price.” 

            Rumplestiltskin grinned.  “We’re getting to that bit.”  He swung back to face James.  “And a word of advice for you.  Don’t offer to give anything to someone with power.  Someone less scrupulous than I would undoubtedly take advantage of that.” 

            “You have scruples?” Grumpy snorted. 

            “One or two.”  For a split second, his gaze drifted to meet Belle’s, and she couldn’t help giving him a small smile.  Then Rumplestiltskin swung back to their visitors, all business.  “But I can’t do the work for you.  Do you believe she’s worth fighting for?” 

            “Of course!” James replied even as the dwarf shot Rumplestiltskin another dirty look. 

            “Do you think we’d be visiting _you_ otherwise?” 

            Rumplestiltskin giggled again, and Belle could tell he was enjoying the dwarf’s attitude almost as much as she was.  She knew he wasn’t too fond of dwarves on principle—they associated too often with fairies for his tastes—but this one seemed different, even to Belle’s inexperienced eyes. 

            “I can’t get you in,” her husband told the prince and the dwarf, despite the fact that he could, “but I can help with the exit plan.  You’ll have to fight your way to your princess, but once you find her, you can escape with _this._ ”  

            Extending his right hand, Rumplestiltskin gestured simply, generating a small puff of green smoke.  When the smoke cleared, he held a painting of a forest, mounted in an ornate oval frame.  The picture was relatively small, easy enough to hide in a pack or a saddlebag, and Belle recognized it immediately as one of the many magical-but-useless-to-Rumplestiltskin items that had been gathering dust in one of the several storage rooms at the base of his favorite tower.  The picture had been buried under two solid feet of gold thread when she’d found it, and Belle had almost been sucked right into the portal when she dropped it. 

            The expression on Rumplestiltskin’s face when she got her foot stuck in the portal and had to call him for help had been priceless.  Or, it would have been hilarious if Belle had not run afoul of the painted portal on her third day in the Dark Castle, back when she’d been pretty convinced he’d turn her into something nasty for breaking his things. 

            “A painting?” Grumpy said dubiously. 

            “A portal,” Rumplestiltskin corrected him.  “Drop it on the floor, give it a slight twist, jump right in, and you’ll find yourself safe and sound in the forest, well away from ol’ George and Regina both.” 

             “What do you want for it?” Prince James asked, obviously surprised to be offered an object of such great power. 

            “Oh, it’s not a gift.  This is a loan, dearie.  I want it back.”  Portals, Rumplestiltskin had warned Belle the day she stuck her foot in one and thereby wedged it open, worked both ways.  The last thing any intelligent magic user wanted was to leave one in the hands of the uninitiated, because those fools were more likely to contaminate both ends than the leave matters well enough alone. 

            “Fine,” James replied decisively, and Belle could see why Snow loved him.  She’d never even caught a glimpse of them together, but knew that they _fit_ like missing pieces to the same puzzle. 

            “And”—typically, Rumplestiltskin held a finger up with a flourish—“I want something from each of you.” 

            “From each of us?  Isn’t that a bit steep?” The dwarf got in before Prince James could agree. 

            “Take it or leave it.  That’s the deal.” 

            The two exchanged a glance and, finally, a shrug.  Belle could tell they were going to agree even before James sighed: “What do you want?” 

            “Easy.  From you, a few hairs off your pretty little head.”  That was to James, and then he turned to Grumpy.  “And from you, a name.” 

            “Why do you want one of my hairs?” James asked even as Grumpy started to look worried. 

            “What name do you want?” 

            “My business,” Rumplestiltskin told James, but he answered the dwarf a bit more honestly.  “Because killing fairies is a bit of a hobby of mine, and I’d like to know which one to avoid.” 

            “You _what_?”  Had James not grabbed Grumpy, Belle thought the dwarf might have launched himself at her husband and tried to tear him limb from limb.  The sudden appearance of fury shocked her into taking a step backwards, noticing how although Rumplestiltskin’s relaxed posture never changed, his left hand dropped ever so slightly, almost as if to protect her.  “You leave her alone, you—you—” 

            “If your love was in danger from me, I’d hardly be asking you her _name_ now, would I?” Rumplestiltskin countered nonchalantly.  “I’ll even give you my word not to harm her, if you like.  But I am terribly _curious_ about the fairy Rheul Gorm convinced you to pretend you don’t love…Dreamy.” 

            Grumpy flinched, yet plowed on bravely: “Dwarves can’t fall in love.” 

            “Of course they don’t.  Neither do monsters, and yet here we are.” 

            Belle’s breath caught on that admission.  Would the other two catch it, and why had Rumplestiltskin volunteered that? It wasn’t that she would have minded if he’d chosen to shout their love from the rooftops, but _he_ was the one who had insisted that they keep their True Love a secret.  Why mention it now? 

            “I want your word,” Grumpy snarled. 

            “Granted.  I hereby swear that no harm—or death, dismemberment, or otherwise damaging action—will befall your fairy from my hands.  Or my magic.” 

            It was a more thorough promise than he usually made, which told Belle that he hadn’t ever meant harm to at least one particular fairy, and that could only tell her one thing.  _This dwarf, this Grumpy—who, judging from Rumplestiltskin’s tone, was once called something else—has found True Love._ Her husband _did_ have a habit of tracking each True Love couple, and had long before he’d met her.  His fascination with the topic was a mystery she was still working to uncover, but Belle could wait before asking. 

            Grumpy hesitated, but a pleading look from James finally loosened his lips. 

            “Nova,” he said gruffly.  “Her name is Nova.” 

            “Excellent!” Rumplestiltskin bounded forward, using his long nails to pluck a trio of hairs off of James’ head as the prince yelped.  Then he tossed the painting at James, who caught it hurriedly.  “Off you go, then!  You have a princess to rescue.”

 

*****************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has kept reading this story despite my erratic posting rate! Next up, Rumplestiltskin comes up with a project for Belle, and then Belle receives a visit from a certain fairy.
> 
> In the meantime, what do you think the significance is of these snippets of a different future Rumplestiltskin is seeing? Let me know what you think!


	12. Chapter 12

Her new project fit her far better than being a maid ever had. Not that Belle hadn’t done her best to be a _good_ maid, even if duties of cooking and cleaning had been relatively new to her, given the station she’d enjoyed as the daughter of a powerful knight, but she hadn’t really been the stuff from which excellent servants were made.  Of course, Belle had discovered early on that Rumplestiltskin didn’t need someone to clean up after him so much as he needed companionship, and she was far more suited to making friends with a difficult and lonely monster than she was to cleaning his castle.  Still, though she was more than happy to spend the rest of her life with him, the Dark Castle _was_ rather empty when people didn’t show up seeking deals, which left Belle bored.

            There were only so many books a girl could read, after all, before she went crazy in the quiet.  She’d been less inclined to complain before their original failed kiss.  Before Belle had known for certain that Rumplestiltskin felt the same way she did, it seemed foolish to upset their uncertain friendship.  Now, however, she was willing to do battle with him.  She hadn’t won yet on the subject of a staff for the Dark Castle, but in the process Belle had discovered something _better_.

            Rather, her often infuriating yet strangely thoughtful husband had come up with it for her, and she’d spent almost a week absolutely _engrossed._   Now it was her turn to forget to eat and forget to sleep the way Rumplestiltskin usually did when his attention was absorbed by some project.  He’d complained, of course, but mostly left her to her own devices, understanding that when Belle focused on a project, dissuading her was almost impossible.  After all, hadn’t her father discovered that soon after he’d taught her to read?  But the Time Clock Dragon Rumplestiltskin had acquired in a deal was even better than a book; it could show her actual history!  And it certainly wasn’t her fault that Rumplestiltskin had suggested Belle use it to become a magical historian of sorts, recording events that oral history had long since forgotten in addition to those taking place now.

            “Sweetheart, it’s not that I _mind_ cooking,” her husband said six days after giving her the Time Clock Dragon.  “But I would like _some_ of your attention.  Every now and then.”

            He’d brought her dinner an hour ago and Belle had picked at it until she’d gotten distracted by taking notes.  Now Rumplestiltskin whisked the half-eaten remnants of her meal away with a wave of one hand and sat down next to her on the couch that sat in front of the Time Clock Dragon.  Then he waved a hand at her new toy and the contraption stopped moving, freezing the magically-animated figures in the midst of their rendition of the Third Ogre War.

            “Rumple!”  Belle turned to glare at him, pushing her guilty feelings aside.  “It was just getting—”

            “It’ll still be there in the morning,” her husband countered reasonably.  “And _you_ , my dear Belle, are going to turn into a pumpkin if you don’t step away from this sometime soon.”

            She snorted.  “That’s only a legend.  No one _actually_ turns into a pumpkin because they wait too long to stop doing something.  In fact, you should know that better than anyone.”

            “Ah, but you’re forgetting something,” he said with a grin, his eyes dancing as one long finger bopped Belle on the nose.  “Counterfact: _I_ turn people into pumpkins if they sit in front of a Time Clock Dragon for too long.  Your logic lacks in imagination.”

            “You wouldn’t,” Belle pouted.

            “Wouldn’t I?” Rumplestiltskin chuckled, and the laugh wasn’t terribly unlike the old high-pitched giggle.  “I’m still recovering from my curse.  Darkness is like an addiction.  And without you to keep me straight…I might be naughty.”

            “I’m sitting right here.”

            “Ignoring me.”

            The words came out half-whine, half-taunt, but it was his comical expression that made Belle giggle.  And relent—a little, anyway.  The feeling of guilt welled back up.  Usually, it faded because Rumplestiltskin retreated after insisting she eat, letting Belle get her fill of her new and fascinating toy.  This time it lingered because he did, and Belle couldn’t bury herself in research again.

            “I have been ignoring you, haven’t I?” she asked quietly.

            His answering smile was soft.  “A little.”

            “I’m sorry.  I—” Belle bit her lip, and tried to come up with an explanation that was as honest as it was heartfelt.  Barely a month had passed since their kiss had broken Rumplestiltskin’s curse, and here she was ignoring him for a shiny new _toy_.

            “Got engrossed.  I know,” Rumplestiltskin finished the sentence for her.  “I _did_ give you the Time Clock Dragon, love.  I figured this would happen, at least for a while.   All jokes aside, though…people _have_ wasted away watching the world through this metal beastie.  I trust your willpower will be up to the task of tearing you away.”

            Belle vaguely remembered her husband warning her about the potential for addiction that the Time Clock Dragon presented, but at the time she’d been too excited to worry much about such mundane things.  Now she only felt even more embarrassed.  “Or you can trust that _you’ll_ pull me away when you get bored.  Or lonely.”

            “Bored, sweetheart.  Always bored.”  His reply was light, but Belle saw the way his eyes flicked to the side when she had implied he was lonely.  Rumplestiltskin never liked to _admit_ how alone he’d felt before Belle had joined him in this empty castle, but they both knew that he’d been terribly isolated.  Belle didn’t comment on that, however; why bother when he’d try to deny it?  Instead, she leaned in to kiss him lightly.

            “Of course you are,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck.  “We’ve hardly acted like proper newlyweds, have we, what with me ignoring you and all?”

            Rumplestiltskin chuckled again, waggling his eyebrows as his hands found her hips.  Immediately, his thumbs started tracing circles through the cloth, and Belle started wishing that there wasn’t a dress in the way.  If there was one thing marriage had taught her, it was that Rumplestiltskin’s hands were _talented._ “Oh, I survived it.  Barely.  Though I am feeling a tad…abandoned.”

            “Then I shall have to make that up to you.”  Belle shifted closer to him and raised an eyebrow of her own.  “If you have any ideas how I might…?”

            “I think it’s a safe bet to say that I have several,” he breathed, and now it was Rumplestiltskin’s turn to kiss her, leaving Belle breathless with desire. 

            Had she imagined that it could be like this?  True Love was never _easy_ , of course, but when she’d fallen for him, had Belle ever imagined that the layers of the monster could peel back to reveal a man who loved so very deeply?  She had _hoped_ for their future, and Belle would have loved Rumplestiltskin no matter how he turned out after the curse was broken.  She would have loved him if he’d remained the Dark One forever.  No.  She had never so much as dreamed of this, of a life with a _man_ who she loved.  Even if he did drive her crazy sometimes.

            This was clearly going to be one of those moments, Belle realized as Rumplestiltskin pulled back, mischief dancing in his eyes.  “A hair,” he said.

            “A what?”

            “A hair.  Or two or three, preferably.  From your head.”  He was trying to look solemn, but the maddening man had to know exactly what he was doing to her.  Belle even knew what he’d want her hairs for—and on second thought, was surprised that he hadn’t asked sooner—but _now_?  Really?  “That’s how you can make it up to me.”

            “Is that _all_?” Belle glowered.

            “Did you think I’d ask for something else, dearie?”  The gleam in his eyes said that he already knew the answer to that question, and she smacked in him the shoulder with her right hand.

            “Don’t call me that.”

            Rumplestiltskin only used that word on Belle when he was feeling nasty or needed to mock her, and Belle _hated_ it.  She knew that he called people ‘dearie’ usually when he was out to prove to them how stupid they were, and she usually didn’t fall in that category.  Now, even though she was feeling a little guilty for ignoring him, combining that term of not-endearment with his obviously intent to infuriate her only ticked her off.  A little.  If Belle had been truly furious, she’d have stormed out of the room or told him to get lost.

            “Ow.”  He pouted.

            “You deserved that.”

            “Perhaps I did.”  His smile went charming again as Rumplestiltskin cocked his head slightly and studied her.  Slowly, he took her right hand in his left, lifting it to kiss the back lightly.  “A hair or two, my lady?”

            Belle sat back and gave him a smug smile.  “You’ll have to convince me.”

            Needless to say, he was up to the challenge.

 

*****************

 

            Several mornings later, trouble arrived.  Belle was out in the garden of the Dark Castle, picking cherries.  Rumplestiltskin had chided her for the wasted effort, pointing out that he could pull a thousand cherries off the trees in the time it took her to pick a dozen, but she enjoyed her time outside.  Besides, the cherries tasted better when she picked them herself.  Her husband laughed but didn’t stop her, instead retreating up to his workroom with a distant look on his face.  He’d been muttering all morning about a pair of visions he’d had that didn’t make sense, and Belle had no doubt that he was going to spend the morning trying to straighten that out. 

            Had she tried to stick around for that, Belle would only have been bored and in the way.  She also knew that she couldn’t spend any longer in front of the Time Clock Dragon unless she _really_ wanted to lose herself in it, so she’d chosen to come outside.  Later, she’d go into town and do a bit of shopping…and start asking around to see if there was anyone in town who was interested in coming to the Dark Castle.  It had taken weeks of convincing, but Belle had finally talked Rumplestiltskin into hiring some staff for the castle.  She’d worked out the bare minimum number of people required to form a decent household, and already had a few from back in Avonlea in mind, but there were probably some people down in town who would be willing, too.

            Much to her surprise, when Belle had first visited the town that owed fealty to the lord of the Dark Castle, she’d found that Rumplestiltskin treated them very well.  Although the townspeople were wary of him, they also trusted him.  He was sometimes an indifferent overlord, leaving them to their own devices and only coming to settle disputes that the magistrates could not handle, but he was always fair in his judgments.  Rumplestiltskin always overpaid for the goods his magic whisked away to the castle, and he didn’t tax the town at all or send their children off to war.  Oldtown was a surprisingly happy place, and Belle always enjoyed her time there.

            For now, however, she just wanted to pick cherries and throw grins at Rumplestiltskin every time he thought he was being sneaky and watching her through the tower window.  _He’s really not as subtle as he thinks he is,_ she thought with a smile, turning back to the cherry tree.  Fortunately, she’d remembered to bring a stepladder along this time.  Considering the bruises she’d suffered climbing up this very tree a month earlier, Rumplestiltskin’s insistence that she use the ladder made a lot of sense.

            Of course, she fell _off_ the ladder the moment an unexpected voice spoke from behind her, landing right on her rear end.  Cherries spilled _everywhere_ as her basket up-ended, luckily landing around Belle and not under her, otherwise even magic might not have been able to get the stains out.

            “Good morning, child.”           

            Picking herself up off the ground, Belle whirled to face the intruder, brushing dirt off her skirts.  No, she hadn’t been lucky.  There _were_ smashed cherries decorating the hem, now.  She was glad that she’d worn the old blue and white dress instead of something nicer, planning to change before she headed into town.  Much to her surprise, her ever-secretive husband actually _had_ introduced her to Oldtown’s magistrates as his wife, and Belle had no intention of looking like anything less than the part.  Sometimes she found it odd that he refused to let the world know that his curse had been broken by True Love’s kiss yet had no problem admitting that he’d married her—but in her heart Belle knew that the two matters were mostly unrelated.  Nor did either have anything to do with her unexpected visitor.

            Belle had never seen a fairy before, but the small woman floating in the air in front of her had to be one.  She was outright _tiny_ , but had the expected wings and ethereal glow.  Her visitor’s long hair was a dark brown, and she was dressed in a sparkly blue dress that did nothing to emphasize modesty.  Peering at her curiously, Belle cocked her head slightly, meeting the fairy’s frank gaze brazenly.

            “Can I help you?” she asked after a moment.

            “I am the Blue Fairy,” her visitor said with a benevolent smile.  Why _did_ she wave her hands like that while she was flying?  It made her look like a fish treading water. 

            “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Belle replied, offering a slight curtsy.  It didn’t pay to be impolite, after all.  “My name is Belle.”

            A friendly smile:  “I know who you are, Lady Belle of Avonlea.  And I am here to help you.”

            “With what?”

            For the life of her, Belle couldn’t think of anything she wanted help with.  The last two and a half months had been the happiest of her life, and she couldn’t imagine how a fairy might make it any better.  The use of her old name grated on her a little, though.  _I’m the lady of the Dark Castle, now, even if it’s not a traditional fiefdom.  The lands between here and Oldtown are far more prosperous than those my father rules, even if smaller in area._

            “You poor child,” the small woman breathed, oozing pity that put Belle’s teeth on edge.  “You have faced your trials bravely, but the time for that is at an end.  We will help you escape.”

           Belle stared.  “Help me _what?_ ”

            “To escape the Dark One.”  Now the Blue Fairy was looking at her like she was slightly stupid, and Belle’s hands found her hips as she glared back.  “Did you not give yourself to him in exchange for the safety of your people?”

            “Of course I did.”

            “And you have suffered long enough.  Come, child.  He will notice my presence soon—I cannot remain amidst so much darkness for long.”  A tiny hand was held out to her, but Belle could only stare at it, wondering where in the world this fairy got her information from.  Whoever told her about Belle’s situation was seriously behind the times!  “I will take you home to your father.”

            A part of Belle—the mischievous, naughty part of her that enjoyed Rumplestiltskin’s crooked sense of humor and dark quips—almost wanted to take the fairy up on her offer.  She _could_ let the tiny blue woman take her back to Avonlea, say hello to her father and friends, and then call on Rumplestiltskin to bring her home again.  He’d be a bit annoyed to have to use magic so frivolously (or so he’d say, but he was the same man who had covered their bed in rose petals two mornings ago just to make Belle swim her way out), but he certainly would understand.  Alas, her more responsible side won out, and she squared her shoulders, looking the Blue Fairy in the eye.

            “I’m not suffering here,” Belle replied honestly.  “And you really don’t know anything about this, do you?”

            “I know you sacrificed yourself, and that is enough.  Your extraordinary courage has earned you protection.”

            “Protection from what?”  _And where were you when I thought I_ needed _protecting?  Is this how the fairies work, coming by after we humans have done all the hard work and trying to clean up after us?_ Belle scowled.  She didn’t need rescuing and never had, and disliked the implication that she was some soft girl who couldn’t fight for herself.

            “From the Dark One, of course.”

            “He’s not—” Belle barely stopped her angry reply in time.   No, she couldn’t tell a fairy that, particularly when her memory was reminding her that the Blue Fairy was supposed to be the most powerful fairy of all.  If she didn’t already know, Belle certainly wasn’t going to tell her.  Instead, she crossed her arms and raised her chin defiantly.  “I love him.”

            Had she hit the Blue Fairy with a club, Belle could not have knocked her back harder.  Then a sickeningly _pitying_ look crossed her face.  “Oh, you poor child.  He’s enchanted you to think that, but we _can_ cure you of that.  All you need do is take my hand, and everything will be all right.”

            “Everything is all right, thank you very much.  I’m _married_ to Rumplestiltskin.  Happily.”

            “You can’t possibly mean—”

            “Of course I am.  What do you think I am, some terrified and blushing girl who needs rescuing?” Belle demanded.  Of course, she’d used Rumplestiltskin’s name on purpose, knowing that he’d probably start paying attention when she did so.  She wasn’t afraid of this fairy, but Belle _was_ wary.  “And even if I _wasn’t_ happy here, I wouldn’t have been such a fool to break a deal with Rumplestiltskin.  _I_ made the deal with him.  My father didn’t.  And it’s my choice to stay.”

            “How dare he make you marry him!” the fairy hissed, and now she looked truly angry.  “Even for him, this is beyond the pale.”

            “He didn’t _make_ me do anything,” Belle snapped back.  “I told you that it was my choice.  He let me out of the deal before that, and he’s not what you think he is.  I know him, and I know that his heart is true.  I don’t need—or _want_ —rescuing.”

            “I cannot help you if you will not help yourself.”  But Blue looked a little shaken in the face of Belle’s determination. 

            “Good.  Then I won’t need to call on Rumplestiltskin to rescue me from _you_.”  Belle knew her smile was smug, but she’d had enough of being treated like some idiot child.

            “You don’t know what you’re doing…”

            “I know exactly what I’m doing.”  Bending over to pick her basket up, Belle forced herself to sound more congenial.  “Now, if you’re only here to tell me what horrible choices I have made, you’re welcome to leave my home.  Immediately.”

            Stunned, the Blue Fairy left, vanishing into the sunny sky while Belle returned to picking cherries.

*****************

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter—my muse just hasn’t wanted to concentrate on this story when it has the complex tale that is Original Powers to concentrate on.
> 
> Next up—Rumplestiltskin and Belle receive two visitors (can you guess who?) and Rumplestiltskin wonders how Belle will feel if he lets Regina cast the Dark Curse


	13. Chapter 13

            Their next set of visitors showed up with rather more warning, but they did arrive the same day that Belle chased the Blue Fairy off.

            “I would have been tempted to swat her with a broom, if only I’d had one at hand,” she told Rumplestiltskin after she’d headed inside to change, rightly guessing that he’d been aware of the encounter but had been willing to let her fight her own battles. Within reason.

            That image made him laugh. If ever there was a fairy that deserved a giant flyswatter, it was that one! “Oh, sweetheart, I wish you had. That would have been…marvelous.”

            “I’ll bring a broom to the garden next time, then.” Belle grinned, and he kissed her.

            They’d wound up tangled up together on a settee in their chambers, sprawling comfortably as he distracted her away from her planned trip to Oldtown. Rather than admitting how much Ruel Ghorm’s unexpected visit worried him, Rumplestiltskin preferred to divert Belle from her intended purpose, at least for the day. She probably knew what he was doing—his wife knew him far too well, sometimes—but so far, Belle appeared to be content with the arrangement. They’d eaten lunch together and he’d abandoned his efforts to try to make the future make sense, and until his magic alerted him to a pair of travelers coming up the mountain road, Rumplestiltskin had hoped to spend a quiet afternoon together.

            Things were starting to come to a head, he knew. There might not be many quiet days left to them, and he wanted to treasure every one of them in the meantime.

            “Damn,” he breathed, mentally following a tendril of magic out to determine if the visitors were people that he wanted to tangle up in a spell or two to lengthen their journey. But, no. Not those two.

            “What is it?” Belle asked, her head on his shoulder. Heaven must feel something like this, he knew, because just being with her made him feel more at peace than he had…well, ever.

            “Visitors. Your friend Snow White and her Charming shepherd prince.”

            Belle jumped up, and Rumplestiltskin stifled a groan. “I should change.”

            “I could do that for you with magic, you know,” he pointed out mildly, but no matter how subtle his suggestion, he knew what her answer was going to be before Belle said:

            “I can manage fine. You’re the one who says all magic comes with a price.”

            He waved a hand. “Negligible.”

            “Well, then you can lace me up.” She shot him a cheeky smile and dropped her dress, reminding Rumplestiltskin that there were very good reasons to let Belle dress and undress the old fashioned way. She’d been far more shy when they’d first married, but two and a half months into their marriage made her far more brazen—and the infernal woman knew _exactly_ what she was doing to him, particularly when she looked at him like that. There was naught he could do but sit back and watch—trying to get in the way before Belle was ready for him would probably get Rumplestiltskin smacked, as he’d found out more than once. The blow would be playful, of course, but they _did_ have visitors coming.

            So Rumplestiltskin watched, smiling and making plans for later.

            “You do know, dear, that I can make you regret that little show you’re putting on,” he threatened in a low voice that was everything _but_ dangerous.

            “Who says I’m not counting on that?” his wife countered. Her back was to him, but Rumplestiltskin could _feel_ her smile.

            He chuckled softly. “Be careful what you wish for.”

            Belle shot him an over the shoulder glance that made him start wondering if he’d need a cold bath before the royals showed up. The damn vixen winked! “Always.”

            Two could play at that game. The moment she looked away, fiddling with the front of her new dress, Rumplestiltskin jumped to his feet. Cat-like, he tiptoed over to her, his movements silent until he was standing right behind and could whisper in her ear.

            “I’m a monster, my dear. You never know what I might do to you.” He knew his breath tickled her ear, but the shiver that raced through Belle wasn’t because she was ticklish, but it was a very suitable revenge.

            Her gaze was hot when she turned it on him. “I’m absolutely terrified,” Belle replied, her voice a shade too husky to pretend everything was normal.

            “You’d better be.”

            Damn. They’d entered the castle already, and the impatient prince was calling his name. In fact, Charming was so damn loud that Rumplestiltskin could hear him with his ears and not just with magic, which meant Belle could, too. She pouted briefly, and then sucked in a deep breath. _Strong girl._ “Lace me up?”

            “Of course.”

            He could have used magic for that, and it would have been faster, but there were some that were just better done by hand. Besides, Rumplestiltskin had become rather talented with stays and laces and other odd bits of feminine clothing in the past ten weeks. Once Belle had decided that he was perfectly capable of helping, she’d stopped wearing only dresses that laced up in the front. It had been years since he’d been faced with such challenges, but Rumplestiltskin hardly minded. It let him drop the occasional kiss on her shoulder, as he did now, pausing to smell her skin before he finished tying her dress off. Helping her dress made their relationship oddly…domestic, and a surprisingly large part of him liked that.

            “Later?” Belle asked quietly when he was done.

            “Impatient, are we?” he couldn’t help laughing.

            She swatted him on the shoulder. “As if I’m the only one.”

            “I hide it better.”

            “Sure you do,” Belle snorted, her gaze shifting downwards, and Rumplestiltskin had rarely been so grateful for magic than he was in that moment. Had he been depending merely upon his own self-control, he’d never have dared wear leather pants _ever_ again. Still, it took every bit of composure he had to ignore her pointed look.

            “Shall we?” he asked instead, offering her his arm.

            “Of course.”

 

*****************

 

            Part of Snow hadn’t wanted to come back to the Dark Castle with James, yet she knew that she needed to face her own irrational fears. She wasn’t afraid of Rumplestiltskin, of course—not that the Dark One wasn’t terrifying, but Snow sensed he was more on their side than not. Or, at least he’d keep his end of the bargain. No, it was _Belle_ who she feared for. The girl she’d befriended while on the run from Regina must be in trouble if she’d lied about Rumplestiltskin being her True Love. Honestly, Snow wasn’t sure if she was more worried that she _would_ see Belle at the Dark Castle or that she _wouldn’t_.

            To make matters worse, James said that he’d met Rumplestiltskin’s _wife_ the last time he’d been there, and he’d said that her name was Belle. Thinking on that made Snow scowl; Belle’s apparent honesty had fooled her and Ruby—but what if it hadn’t been a lie? Oh, maybe it wasn’t True Love. Snow knew how rare that was, and Rumplestiltskin was _evil._ Everyone knew that evil didn’t find True Love. But what if Belle loved _him_? That thought was more terrifying than anything other reason Snow could come up with for the story Belle had told, and it made her want to rescue her friend. _If_ Belle needed rescuing.

            Snow heaved a sigh while they strode into the entrance hall of Rumplestiltskin’s castle. James had made a good point while they’d walked up the mountain. Her True Love had met Rumplestiltskin more times than she had, and had actually had a meaningful conversation with him back when Rumplestiltskin had offered him the chance to become a prince. So, if James said that the Dark One didn’t seem the type to force a woman to stay with him—or _marry_ him!—against her will, Snow was willing to give the imp a chance. She hadn’t known Belle for long, but she wasn’t exactly a weak or easily dominated woman. Much though it pained Snow to admit it, Belle had seemed to know exactly what she was doing when they’d rescued Rumplestiltskin from Regina.

            “Snow!”

            The familiar voice made her whirl around, and yes, that _was_ Belle coming down a spiral staircase at Rumplestiltskin’s side. She was dressed in finery that made Snow’s own clothing look terribly worn and ratty—not that Snow had much of a choice, living the bandit life when she didn’t find herself in one dungeon or another—but it was the happy look on her face that made Snow start.

            “Belle?”

            The other girl rushed forward to hug her, and then shoot a dirty look at Rumplestiltskin. “You didn’t tell me Snow was coming.”

            “You didn’t ask,” the imp replied, shrugging.

            Belle felt solid in her arms as Snow returned her embrace, and her smile was so much less restrained than Snow remembered. “You look wonderful,” Snow said, smiling despite her own unease.

            Was it her imagination, or was Rumplestiltskin watching the pair of them as warily as James was?

            “So do you,” Belle replied immediately, then laughed a bit. “Well, for someone that just escaped King George’s dungeon, anyway. I was sorry to hear about that.”

            “It turned out all right,” Snow said, pulling back to smile at her friend. And Belle _was_ her friend, no matter how betrayed she’d felt when she’d realized who Belle had hoodwinked into rescuing them.   What was it Rumplestiltskin had said in the forest after the rescue? _They’d never believe the truth_.

            “I’m glad,” Belle said, and Snow believed her. Finally, James intervened, holding out the portrait that they’d jumped into to make their escape.

            “We came to return your portal,” James told Rumplestiltskin.

            “So you did.” The Dark One gestured vaguely, and the portrait vanished out of James’ hand, frame and all. Snow’s love jumped slightly, and then leveled a glare at Rumplestiltskin.

            “Couldn’t you just take it like a normal person?”

            Snow suppressed a smile as Belle giggled. She loved him for his brashness as much as anything else.

            “Who ever said I’m ‘normal’, dearie?” Rumplestiltskin countered. “Or that I’d want to be?”

            “You got married like anyone else,” Snow blurted out before she could think to stop herself. But she couldn’t help it. She was curious.

            Eyebrows wiggled. “So it would appear.”

            “Rumple,” Belle admonished him, detaching herself from Snow’s side and heading over to her…husband. The look she gave him reminded Snow of ones Joanna had given her as a child, when she’d been being foolish and rambunctious and out of line. Then Snow’s mind caught up with the nickname. _Rumple?_   

            But the Dark One didn’t seem to mind. He only grinned at Belle, ignoring the implication that he should behave himself.

            “Where’d you lose your dwarf?” he asked instead.

            James scowled. “He had things to do.”

            Snow managed not to smile to herself. Grumpy had been, well, _grumpy_ about Rumplestiltskin having figured out that he was in love with a fairy, and had headed off to warn Nova as soon as the rescue mission was complete. The other dwarves had headed off to help with the various things that needed organizing before a successful rebellion could start, because Snow had had quite enough of this back-and-forth. King George was annoying, but he wasn’t really the biggest problem at the moment. He’d been determined to hand Snow over to Regina, and much though she had once loved her stepmother, Snow as ready for war.

            “And so do we,” Snow spoke up again, squaring her shoulders. The Blue Fairy had warned her that making a deal with the Dark One was dangerous, but she had very little to lose at this point. And the fairies couldn’t help her, so she would have to turn to him. “Can you help us? I know Queen Regina is no friend of yours.”

            How Regina had managed to hold Rumplestiltskin prisoner was still a mystery, but Snow was wise enough not to ask, no matter how badly she wanted to know. Maybe she’d manage to convince Belle to tell her someday, but now was hardly the time.

            Rumplestiltskin chuckled. It was a surprisingly pleasant sound compared to his normal, high-pitched laugh. “You might say that Regina and I have a…complicated relationship,” he answered critically. “Call us…competitors, if you will.”

           "Can you help us against her?” James pressed, ever the impatient one. Snow shot him a look, but he only shrugged. “ _Will_ you?”

            “All things come at a price, dearie. It depends on what you want, and what you’re willing to pay.”

            James growled a bit under his breath. “Can’t you just enchant her or something?”

            “Oh, I could. But you wouldn’t want to pay that price. Magic can’t win a war by itself. And unless you were willing to kill her, however would you keep control of her without me there? I’m certainly not going to host Regina in my castle for the rest of her natural life.” Rumplestiltskin flung a hand up airily. “I have _far_ better things to do with my time.”

            His eyes flicked to Belle, who _snickered,_ and Snow felt her stomach roll. Yes, they were married, but was he really implying…? Obviously, James was thinking along the exact same lines she was, because he grated out:

            “I _really_ didn’t need to know that.”

            “Can you help us?” Snow asked, trying desperately to ignore what the Dark One was trying to insinuate. Thankfully, Belle shot Rumplestiltskin a pleading look, too, which had to help their case. Didn’t it? He seemed to relent a little, and at least he stopped laughing at them.

            “I’ll tell you what,” Rumplestiltskin said contemplatively. “You fight your little war. And when you get to the point where you figure out what you want to do with dear Regina, you let me know. I can help you contain her. Or—should she get the better of you—well, Princess, I do still owe you a favor.”

            “I guess that’s the best we’re going to get,” Snow answered philosophically. Exchanging a glance with James, she shrugged. That was the best they were going to get. Rumplestiltskin was right—magic couldn’t win a way by itself, and she wasn’t sure she’d want to be that beholden to the Dark One, anyway. If she was going to win her kingdom back, she wanted to do it the _right_ way. Her people deserved better than to be ruled by an Evil Queen, and she’d finally found someone who she could depend upon to fight by her side, no matter what.

            She said farewell to Belle, hugging her friend again and finding herself pleasantly surprised when Belle promised to write—and whispered conspiratorially in her ear that she’d talk Rumplestiltskin into helping in small ways. Snow didn’t know if it would work, but Rumplestiltskin’s expression _did_ seem to soften every time he looked Belle’s way, so maybe it would.

            There were a million questions Snow wanted to ask, but now really wasn’t the time. They’d keep.

 

*****************

 

            Seeing his pet princess and (almost) prince reminded Rumplestiltskin that there was still a curse to work on other than his former one. Several sleepless nights of lying awake while listening to Belle breathe later, he decided how to best deal with his wife’s unhappiness. He had promised Belle that he’d try to find a way other than the curse, and Rumplestiltskin _always_ kept his word…which meant he had to adjust the curse now. Regina would want to trade for it, soon—he didn’t know what she’d have for him, but his visions told him plainly that she’d come crawling to him soon with information, mostly to try to get back on his good side. Regina wasn’t an idiot; she knew she had few enough allies, and wasn’t about to lose her old mentor if she could avoid it. Besides, even the torture hadn’t been personal. He’d known that at the time.

            It still gave him some nightmares, but no worse than many others he had. Rumplestiltskin could live with nightmares, particularly with Belle by his side.

            Sighing, he disentangled himself from his wife’s arms and slid out of the bed, checking to make sure she was still sleeping as he slipped into a robe. He’d try to return before Belle woke up, but now that he’d decided what he needed to do, Rumplestiltskin wasn’t about to hesitate. He’d been working on this curse for so long, and the pieces were finally sliding into place. If he was going to find a way to invert it at will, he had to do that before the curse wound up in Regina’s hands. Once he lost control of the scroll, there was no telling what might happen.

            Slowly, Rumplestiltskin padded his way up to his work tower, walking instead of using magic to transport himself. The spells on his leg held; every now and then, the old injury twinged slightly in pain, but overall, the leg wasn’t much of a problem. Sometimes he wondered if he should finally heal the injury, but the thought of re-shattering the old breaks made him shudder. Bad enough that Regina’s goons had seen the crooked ankle and decided to break it, but their aim had been poor if they’d intended to duplicate his old injury. Instead, they’d broken the leg and ankle in new places, and fresh breaks were easy to heal. It was the old, poorly healed ones that were still a problem. Nearly three centuries after he’d broken his own leg, the injury _had_ healed—just not correctly. And all the healing magic in the world could not fix something that had already knitted together without Rumplestiltskin first completely recreating the old injury. Re-shattering his leg.  

            No. He didn’t want to think of that now. Perhaps he could be a better man without his curse, but he still was a coward at heart. Pushing open the door to his work room, however, allowed him to banish such thoughts from his mind. He had work to do.

            Rumplestiltskin had already placed a drop of Snow and Charming’s True Love on the curse, ensuring that their unborn daughter—all blonde hair and attitude, fond of swans and doubtful to a fault—would be the Savior. But now he’d have to put in a safety valve, an extra line to the curse that would change its very nature…if he so wished it. To Regina, his addition would represent additional power over those she cursed, a guarantee that love could exist within the curse, but since the curse would deny happy endings, it would only highlight people’s suffering. Regina would be pleased by that addition, and would never recognize the Achilles heel Rumplestiltskin was inserting.

            Regina would read that line as love, but placing a small drop of his and Belle’s True Love potion—which had finished brewing only hours earlier—on top of the word _love_ allowed Rumplestiltskin to use that point in the curse as an inversion. Every curse had a breaking point; the large drop of Snow and Charming’s love meant that their daughter would be able to break the curse. But some curses also had _stopping_ points, and that was what he created now. Their love became a thread he could grasp within the casting of the curse itself. So long as he utilized that thread _while_ the curse was being cast—and threw enough power into the process, for the Dark Curse was nothing to sneeze at and would not go down easily—Rumplestiltskin would be able to stop the curse from being completed.

            Assuming he wanted to. Promise Belle though he had, Rumplestiltskin had no intention of leaving his son in the Land Without Magic. If the Dark Curse was the only way to get to Baelfire, the Dark Curse he would use. Perhaps his confusing new visions _did_ hint at another path, but that could always amount to nothing. He might never use the safety valve he’d just inserted on the curse, but if he needed it, it would be waiting. And if he didn’t, well…then everything would proceed according to plan, they would go to the Land Without Magic, and Rumplestiltskin _would_ find his son.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read this story! I may someday write a sequel to it, but at this point, the tale of how Rumplestiltskin changes after letting Belle stay with him in the Dark Castle is complete. Please do check out my other works, and thank you again for reading!


End file.
